A Glimpse Beyond This Illusion
by The Wayward Ones
Summary: (Set late S5) Dean's seen some pretty weird stuff. But when he wakes up in a mental institution with no memory of how he got there, and Sam doesn't seem to even know who he is… Well, anyone would get a little freaked out. And of course, with his luck, nothing's ever easy. Dean soon finds that there's something a bit more sinister than just amnesia lurking below the surface.
1. Crazy Train

**Hey, everyone! We're Pixie and Mimzy. Welcome to our first collaborative story here!**

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ **We don't own any of these characters, but we thank CW profusely for creating them so we could have our story fun.**

 _ **Notes:**_ **This is** **NOT** **a real-person fic. We are not using the actors' names (such as Jensen and Jared) as anything more than names the fandom will be able to easily tie with characters' faces so as to avoid confusion. The families in this story are completely fictitious, so we have changed their names to avoid confusion with people outside the SPN-verse. Additionally, the families don't exactly… well, you'll just have to read the story.**

 **Each chapter will be titled with a song we felt represented it, either through lyrics, music, or just the song title. This fic has been in progress for a long time, and we're already well on the way to completing it. Anyone who wants to follow the storyline can be assured of a regular update every Tuesday, unless something comes up. This is almost novel-length story, however, so if you'll be joining us, be prepared for a long ride!**

 _ **Warnings for this chapter:**_ **Some bad language, because you know this fandom, and** **really** **inaccurate descriptions of what happens in a psych ward.**

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" **Crazy Train" - Ozzy Osbourne**

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The first thing Dean was aware of was the throbbing pain in his head. He groaned a little as he started to come to. What the hell had _happened_ last night? He didn't remember getting drunk, or knocked unconscious... "Wha...?"

"Hey," said a familiar voice from beside him. Dean forced his eyes open, wincing at the bright overhead lights, searching for its source.

He tried to sit up, wincing, but couldn't. It took a moment for his muddled mind to process the situation and realize that he was being held down by padded restraints. That's when he realized something was wrong. Really wrong, even by Winchester standards.

"The hell...?" Anger and a hint of panic warred for dominance in his tone.

"Sorry about that," said the voice.

Slowly, a face swam into focus, and Dean struggled to focus his eyes, make out the features. Whoever this sick sonofabitch was, he was in for a real ass-kicking when Dea- Wait. Was that...

" _Sammy?_ " As Dean's vision cleared, he found Sam sitting down next to him, wearing plain white scrubs, which only added to Dean's confusion and deep sense of _shit shit shit, this is_ not _good._

Sam sighed and shook his head, looking almost a bit disappointed. "My name is Jared… You remember that, don't you?"

Dean frowned. Wait, what? He must really still be out of it... "What're you talking about, Sam? What's going on here?"

"It's _Jared_ …" Sam said again - seemingly unaware that the statement made no sense, speaking slowly, as if to a small child. "You've had another one of your fits…"

Oh, Dean was _so_ not in the mood for…whatever the hell this was. "C'mon, get these damn things offa me," he growled, struggling against the restraints. "We gotta bust outta here." And then figure out what exactly was going on, why his brother was dressed like some sort of nurse, and who on earth was Jared? Maybe Sam had gotten hit on the head or something...

Sam frowned, shaking his head and giving him a scolding look. "Hey, there will be _no_ busting out of anywhere, Mr. Ackles."

Wait, _what_?

He yanked against the irritatingly sure restraints, really starting to get angry now. " _Mr. Ackles?_ Sam, it's me, _Dean._ "

Sam sighed again. "Okay, let's try this again. My name is Jared. Your name is Jensen. Jensen Ackles. We are not brothers, and never have been, despite what you think."

Dean stared at him, raising an eyebrow. "Sam, you are officially one apple short of a pie. And that's coming from the dude tied to the bed."

Sam only rolled his eyes, like _Dean_ was the one being unreasonable. "You know we don't like using the cuffs on you, Mr. Ackles. You're only restrained because you physically attacked the warden."

Dean blinked. The warden? There was a warden? "I'm in _prison_?!"

Sam's face was sympathetic. "More like a... mental asylum."

Oh, great. Just great.

"A looney bin?! _Seriously?!"_ This was officially as bad as Tuesday's got.

"It's for your own good."

Dean yanked on the stupid restraints again. "Let me up."

Sam sighed. "Mr. Ackles, you haven't taken your medication today, and you're having one of your delusions again. Or you were when you woke up, at least. You're a reasonable man. You understand I can't."

"I don't need any damn crazy pills!" Dean said loudly, glaring at his brother. "There's nothing wrong with me, Sam, dammit!"

And Sam, stubborn as ever, insisted, "My _name_ is Jared!"

Well, two could play that game. " _My_ name is Dean!"

It was obvious that Sam was starting to get frustrated. "Your name is _Jensen Ackles_ , alright? You have a loving family and friends back home who are all _very_ worried about you. Right now, though, you're stuck here at Deerwater Psychiatric Institution until you're better and we're able to send you back home."

Dean just stared. "...What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about your _real life_ , Mr. Ackles," Sam stated, taking a deep breath as if to calm himself. "The one I am trying to eventually return you to. Come on, try to remember. I know you can." His brother's voice was patient, soothing, as if he were trying to coax a scared animal out into the open.

Remember what, exactly? As far as Dean was concerned, his memory was pretty good, considering. If he could just remember how he'd gotten this damn _headache…_ or how he'd ended up here in the first place… then he'd be set. Demons, maybe? A djinn wouldn't be giving him such a crappy fantasy…

When he didn't answer, too caught up in his own thoughts, Sam seemed to give up, sighing sadly. "I'll go grab your medication…"

…Oh, hell, no.

At that, Dean started to struggle anew. " _What?!_ No! I'm not taking any crazy pills from demons. They've freaking brainwashed you, Sammy!"

"I'm not Sammy!" Sam practically shouted, shaking his head and walking out of the room, muttering to himself. Dean took the few minutes of alone time to try to wrestle his arms free, but no dice. All too soon, Sam emerged from the hall a couple minutes later, holding a small paper cup and wearing his all-too-familiar bitchface.

Dean glared at him stubbornly. "No." Not happening. Nuh-uh.

"You have to take these, Mr. Ackles." And there was the tone again. The tone that made it sound like Sam was the patient parent, and Dean was the stubborn, bratty five-year-old. Also known as the tone that made Dean want to claw someone's (Sam's) eyes out, but y'know.

"Stop _calling_ me that!"

"Fine. Jensen. That better?"

No. No, it was not.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Not really."

"I'm not going to support your fantasy world by calling you 'Dean,' Jensen," Sam told him. "I'd get fired. And it's not going to help you at all."

Sam was stubborn, but he'd learned it all from Dean. He scoffed. "Well, I'm not gonna take your crazy pills until you do."

There was a definite edge to Sam's voice now, which _really_ shouldn't have made Dean as satisfied as it did. "Jensen… Just take the pills."

He raised an eyebrow. "And become a mindless zombie like you? You don't even remember your own name!" Oh, when he found the asshole behind this...

Sam stared at him for a moment incredulously, shaking his head. "My name is Jared; I have a loving wife and son, and… I can't just call you Dean!"

"Why not?" Dean asked. This was really getting ridiculous. Even if Sam didn't remember anything, this was pushing it. "It's my name." He sighed, settling reluctantly on a compromise. "How about this? I call you what you want; you call me what I want; I take your damn pills. Fair?"

Sam seemed to mull it over for a few moments, before nodding. "...Fine. Dean, take your pills. Please."

Dean might be willing to compromise on some things, but taking a cup full of wacko drugs from a zombified brother was _not_ one of them. And even if it was, this was just plain humiliating. The real Sam would never let him live it down if 'Jared' hand-fed Dean. "Let me up. I can't take 'em lying down with no hands."

Sam nodded, relieved that Dean seemed to be giving in, and set the cup and pills down on a table, finally unsnapping the cuffs. "There. Happy now?"

Well, not exactly happy, but happier. Dean pushed himself up, rubbing his chafed wrists gingerly. "Thanks, Sa—Jared." Whatever. He'd play along with Sam's stupid alter-ego for now. Mostly because he couldn't figure anything out strapped to a bed like a goddamn psych patient.

"No problem. Just… Don't attack me like you did Dr. Sheppard, alright, buddy?"

...Dr. Sheppard? Who? Finally, something that could help him start to figure this stupid… _whatever it was_ out.

But seriously, that tone _had_ to go. "I'm not five, dude. I'm not your 'buddy.'" He reached for the pills and popped them into his mouth, holding them under his tongue as he took a swig of water - that actually helped his pounding head, even if he'd never admit it.

Sam nodded, even going as far as to smile a bit. "Thank you."

Dean rolled his eyes, discreetly spitting the pills into a potted plant as Sam turned away to throw the cup out. _Oldest trick in the book, Sammy._

"So…" He looked at Sam, studying his expression for any small clues. "What do you want with me? What's the endgame here?" Treat this like any other job; that's what he had to do.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "There is no endgame. We want to help you get over your delusions. Rehabilitate you. Send you back to your wife and family. From what I've heard, they miss you very much."

"I don't _have_ delusions, Sam!" He sighed as Sam opened his mouth, clearly about to correct him. "Jared! Whatever!"

Sam shook his head slowly, pityingly. "The pills should kick in soon… They'll help."

"...What'd you drug me up with?" Dean asked out of curiosity. Sure, he didn't know all that much about psych drugs, but maybe he'd get lucky...

Of course Sam wasn't gonna give him a straight answer. "Medication, that's what," his brother told him, and Dean noticed that his tone was considerably lighter than it had been before. "To help your poor brain. And hopefully stop you from acting like an idiot. 'Dean' is...You act like a five-year-old sometimes, you know. With your air guitar and all that."

...Well, at least Sam's opinion of Dean's hobbies hadn't changed.

Dean shot him a playful look. "Hey! My air guitar rocks! Asia, man. That's not crazy. That's _rock 'n roll_."

Sam rolled his eyes, grinning slightly and sitting down in a chair next to the bed. "Whatever you say, 'Dean.'"

The scene was painfully familiar - a hospital bed and a chair, and brotherly bickering… but Dean couldn't take the time to enjoy it. The sooner he ditched Sam, the sooner he could figure out what was going on here and change everything back to normal. "What, you planning on camping out?"

A small laugh told him that Sam knew exactly what he was thinking - and was having none of it. "Not just going to leave you alone, dude. Knowing 'Dean,' until that medication kicks in you'd try to break out. Again. And then get tazed by the security guards. Again."

Dean glared, but quickly realized he needed to be able to fake having taken the pills to ever get Sam off his ass. "How much longer?"

Sam checked his watch. "Maybe… ah... twenty minutes?"

"And then I can go out again?" Crazy or not, this whole 'babysitter' thing was really starting to grate on Dean's nerves.

"Under supervision."

Of _course._ Dean rolled his eyes. "I _am_ a grown man, Jared."

Did his brother just _chuckle_ at him?! Oh, Sam was _so_ gonna get it after Dean saved their hides… "Yeah, but you're a rather immature one."

And so Dean did the only logical thing _to_ do in his situation. He stuck his tongue out at Sam, who, frankly, deserved it.

Sam scoffed. "Really?"

Dean smirked, childishly pleased at Sam's annoyance. "Hey, when in Rome, right? I got twenty minutes of excused crazy."

Oh, Sam was _so_ amused. That was totally a smile; he couldn't hide it, not from Dean. "Ha, fine. But your meds had better kick in soon, man. I can't put up with you all day… Not like this, anyway."

Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. Clearly Sam wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, he might as well try and get some answers from him. "You, ah… you said I have a family?"

Sam smiled softly, clearly relieved at the change of topic. "Yeah. Beautiful wife, Camari. A daughter named Keegan."

Seriously? _Seriously?_ Dean couldn't hide a snicker. "You kidding me? What kinda names are those?" At Sam's stern look, he quickly turned his laugh into an admirably convincing coughing fit. "I mean. I'm sure I love them very much." God, it was hard to say that with a straight face...

"Yes, you do. You and Camari are both actors." Sam reached over to the bedside table and handed him a photo. His own face grinned up at him from the red carpet, his arm draped around a _really hot_ lady's waist, a little girl holding his hand. "For a while, they just thought 'Dean' was a character you were trying to figure out how to play properly. They just thought you'd been taking work home. Acting as a joke. 'Till you got this idea that you were single and...Well…" Sam trailed off, his face reddening a little on Dean's behalf.

Finally, something useful. Dean frowned, mind working despite the pain still stabbing through his temples. "Really...? What show was Dean for, did they say?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't really know. Sorry."

Dean nodded slowly. "Right... right. Hey, you got any kids, Jared?"

Sam nodded, smiling slightly. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. His name's Scott." The love and pride in Sam's voice was blatantly obvious, and Dean realized with a pang that his brother truly believed that he had a son.

Whoever was doing this was going to pay - slowly and painfully - for brainwashing his brother into thinking he actually had a nice apple pie life, complete with a wife and kid. Sure he was happy now, but eventually…

Dean cleared his throat. "How old is, uh, Scott then?"

"He just turned six," Sam said, and Dean did his best not to imagine Sam in a nice house, playing with a little six-year-old kid with his shaggy brown hair and baby-faced grin.

"So why aren't you at home, taking care of him?"

Sam laughed. " My wife's got it covered, and Scott's at school now anyway. I leave here, who's going to look after you, huh? Dr. Sheppard practically has the image of you attacking him with that plastic fork seared into his brain. I don't think he ever wants to hear the words 'demon' or 'Crowley' ever again."

...Crowley?! Crowley was involved in this? Oh, not good...

Dean looked down, feigning shame. He really could be an actor; he was playing Sam like a fiddle. A perfectly timed sigh, and… "Hopefully, I'll get over these delusions soon. Then I can get back to my life, y'know? And don't let me tie you down. You don't have to feel guilty about me being a wack-job." He gave a sad little smile, looking as pathetic and miserable as he could manage.

And Sammy fell for it; of course he did, the big old bleeding heart. One of Sam's huge warm hands came down on his shoulder, squeezing gently to offer comfort. "Hey, it's not a problem. You're the most interesting patient I've ever had. And I once took care of a guy who thought apples were alive, the sky was purple, and that little midgets dances around his bed when he slept." He offered a tentative smile and a small laugh. "So, you know, that's saying something."

Dean shrugged the hand off, still not meeting his brother's eyes. "I… I'm sorry, Jared... I just... I don't even know what happened. I thought these were stopping…"

Sam sighed sadly. "I know, Jensen… You're getting better. You are. This is perfectly normal. Yeah, you have a problem, but that doesn't mean you're not a person." He smiled a little, clearly hoping to cheer Dean up. "Your wife's planning on visiting this afternoon, remember that? We were talking about it yesterday. She's bringing Keegan, too."

Play along, just… just play along for now… Dean returned the small smile. "Yeah, I remember that now." He looked away, pushing his voice to break. "I hate them seeing me like this…" He let his voice trail off, rubbed his face as if to clear his head, and plastered a clearly fake grin on. "Whatever. I can hold it together for an afternoon, right?"

His dopey brother gave him this huge supportive grin that'd really be comical in any other situation. "Yeah, 'course you can. Even 'Dean' isn't all that bad, when he isn't flirting with all the female nurses… You tell 'Dean' to keep his hands to himself, yeah?"

Dean chuckled, pretending to be embarrassed but really a little amused. Apparently he was a real chick magnet even in this wacko world, too. "I keep telling 'Dean' to go get lost, but he seems to have a mind of his own. Who do I have to apologize to this time, besides… ah... Dr. Sheppard?"

Sam's brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to remember. "Well… No one much. Oh - Except the janitor. You accused him of being Lucifer. I think he's a bit upset with you. But it's fine, man. Really."

Now _that_ was interesting… Dean shrugged again. "Yeah, whatever. I should probably let him know we're all good." He glanced up. Was Sam gonna leave him alone now? It was pretty obvious that Dean had managed to convince him that the medication had kicked in and he was now Jensen. "I… ah... think I need to take a walk. Clear my head a bit before my family comes. That cool?"

"Sure thing," Sam said with a smile, and Dean grinned with the relief. "I could come with, if you want, but… Like you said, you're a grown man, after all. Despite what some of the patients think, this is _not_ Hell."

Dean couldn't stop a grim chuckle. "Been there, done that, right?"

Sam laughed, too. "Suppose Dean has, at least." Dean stood up, stretching his sore muscles, stopping at the door as he heard his brother's quiet voice. "...But you know... I would have been proud."

Dean frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

Sam cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I… I would have been proud. If you… y'know. If you were actually my big brother."

The statement caught Dean off guard, and he blinked. "Me... Jensen, or me, Dean?"

"Both, I guess." Sam looked down, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "I mean, Dean's not that bad when you get to know him. Real, no. But, uh… All things considered, he's sorta cool…" He coughed, clearly uncomfortable. "And, uh, you're a pretty great guy yourself, Jensen."

Dean flushed, actually embarrassed at Sam's confession - even if his brother did have a bunch of fake memories stuffed into his head and happened to be under the impression that Dean was nuts. "Yeah, well...For a wacko."

Sam chuckled a bit. "Yeah, for that."

At a loss for what to say, Dean nodded a little before leaving the room. He didn't have any more time to chat with his amnesiac of a little brother. He needed to figure out what was going on.

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 **So we hope you enjoyed that! The second chapter will be posted next Tuesday, if all goes well. Be sure to review and tell us what you thought of it! - Mimzy and Pixie**


	2. Honesty

**Hey!**

 **As promised, it is Tuesday and here is the second chapter. Thank you all for following, favoriting, and/or reviewing! We really appreciate it. This chapter should have a little more action as the story starts to kick off.**

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ **We do not own Supernatural.**

 _ **Warnings for this chapter:**_ **As always, some language, and once again, inaccurate descriptions of what goes on in a mental institute. We mean no offense to anyone really suffering from any of the mental illnesses to be mentioned - the story is purposefully inaccurate for plot reasons.**

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" **Honesty" - Billy Joel**

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Jared walked down the hall, sighing softly to himself. He'd had to go in and update Jensen's chart with the information on his backslide. And the poor guy'd been doing so well, too… No fits for a whole week, then wham, out of the blue… The official diagnosis was Dissociative Identity Disorder, but Jared knew DID when he saw it. Something was definitely off about this case, but Jared knew that once they figured it out, they'd have Jensen's meds stabilized and get him back home in no time.

As he stopped to put Jensen's pill bottles away, he noticed something that made him groan. Oh, great. Someone had left the computer lab open _again_. He sighed, turning around to go lock up. Training new staff was the worst...

He walked inside, only expecting to have to shut things down and turn off the lights, when he saw Jensen standing in the middle of the cramped room, pacing back and forth impatiently, phone in hand.

...That wasn't right. Jensen knew better than to go into the computer room outside of the scheduled patient use hours, meaning… Crap. Dean.

Jared cleared his throat, crossing his arms. "Jensen…"

"Son of a bitch…" Jensen - or, probably more accurately, Dean - sighed, hanging up the phone.

Jared let out a disappointed sigh, trying his best not to become irritated. Still, he almost felt… _betrayed_ that Jensen had lied to him. "You didn't take your medication. That's why you wanted to know how long it would take to kick in. 'Twenty minutes of crazy?' Ha, more like twenty minutes when you could act like 'yourself...'"

'Dean' only rolled his eyes. "C'mon, ' _Jared_.' Something's up here, and you gotta let me figure out what it is."

No, Jared did not 'gotta' let him figure out anything, mainly because there was nothing to figure out.

His expression hardened. Patient or not, Jensen - Dean - whoever - was totally aware of what he'd done. Part of rehabilitation was getting him to take responsibility for his actions like anyone else.

"Don't give me that look. You lied to me! Never - whether you thought you were Dean or not - never once have you actually flat out lied to me." He shook his head and took a deep breath. There was no point getting personal. He'd made his point. "This has gone way too far this time, 'Dean.' Come on, we're giving you your medication. _Now_. And this time, I'm going to make sure you actually take it."

Jensen shot him a glare. " _Yeah, right_. Look, I know you don't believe me, but your name is Sam Winchester. You're my little brother. And something's making you forget all that. I've started to narrow it down to a couple of specific things that could be causing this, but I just gotta-"

Jared cut him off. "No." He sighed. He hated being so abrupt with any of his patients, but it couldn't be healthy to let Jensen keep going with this delusion. "There are no demons, alright? There's no 'Cas;' there's no 'Bobby,' and your father's name wasn't even John. Come on… Don't make me sedate you. _Please_." It wouldn't be the first time he'd had to do it and he was willing to, but he was really hoping to avoid it.

He always hated it when Jensen pulled some stunt like this. His multiple personality had a habit of being much too clever for his own good, which usually caused much more trouble than any of the institution's security guards really needed to deal with, and ended with either tasers or sedatives.

Jensen shook his head, letting out a sigh. "Sorry, Sam. But I gotta figure out what's doing this to you and put a stop to it."

"Nothing's doing anything to me, okay?" Jared sighed, pulling out a needle containing a light sedative, just in case. "Just come with me. You're going to take your medication."

Jensen noticed the needle - of course he did- and took a step back, raising his fists in a defensive position. "Oh, like _hell_ I will."

Jared cursed under his breath. Was Jensen actually going to try to forcefully get out of taking his meds? That had never happened before - not with Jared, at least. Most of the time, because of his delusion that the two of them were related, 'Dean' gave in fairly easily when Jared asked him to do something or go somewhere. Something about "stupid puppy-dog eyes."

"Don't fight me, Jensen…" Jared kept his tone as calm as possible, taking a slow step forwards. "Just come with me, yeah?" For a moment, it looked like Jensen was really considering it, and Jared started to relax, when -

" _Gah_!" He cried out sharply from both the sudden pain and the initial shock, and then cursed loudly as pain continued to shoot up his arm. Jensen had him in a sturdy arm bar, one calloused thumb pressing into the crook of his elbow and the other wrapped tight around his fingers, pulling them back and forcing his wrist up at an unnatural angle that just hurt more when he tried to squirm away.

Jared struggled to free himself, grimacing and trying not to panic. What the hell were you supposed to do when a patient actually physically attacked you?! "Jensen, let me go! Now. You're just making it worse for yourself… Think about your family!" With his big guns pulled out, all Jared could do was hope the thought of Keegan and Camari would get through to the other man.

Jensen only tightened his grip. "Don't you _get_ it, Sam? You _are_ my family! You're all I have left, and I just…" He swallowed, and Jared could hear the real pain in the other man's voice. "I can't lose you too."

Jared took a deep breath, reminding himself that even if this wasn't real… it was real to 'Dean.' He had to be kind with this, but with pain still shooting in his arm, that kindness was starting to wear thin. "I'm _not_ your brother, Jensen. ...I'm sorry, but I'm not. I never was, never will be. We did _not_ grow up together, if you'd just get that through your _stubborn_ head… Just let me _go_ , Jensen."

"I'm _not_ Jensen!" 'Dean' shoved Jared away, causing him to stumble back, before making a break for the door.

Jared blinked dumbly after him for a second, still in a bit of disbelief, then let out a regretful sigh, picking up the phone. Dr. Sheppard and needed to be informed of this so he could call the security guards.

Sheppard picked up fairly quickly, thankfully. " _Hello_?"

His voice was brisk and to the point. "Dr. Sheppard, Mr. Ackles is trying to make a break for it… again."

" _I see_ ," came the British accent in reply, tinny through the phone's speakers. " _I'll sound the alarm._ "

Jared muttered a quick thanks as he hung up, running out after Jensen. The guy'd have an easier time with Jared than with the guards, who wouldn't hesitate to pump him full of enough sedatives to knock out a horse.

It took him almost a full five minutes to track Jensen down, and then just when he thought it couldn't get any worse…

He rounded the corner, freezing in slack-jawed horror when he saw Jensen calmly swinging a leg over the ledge of a second story window.

"Jensen!" he yelled, in a total panic now. " _Don't!_ " Oh god, oh god, oh god...

'Dean' rolled his eyes, as if Jared had no reason to freak out over the small fact that his patient was just about to _jump out of a goddamn window_. "I'm not jumping, you idiot." The statement would've probably been more credible if he wasn't currently swinging his other leg out the window, perching precariously on the narrow ledge.

Jared started to run towards Jensen quickly, hoping to get there in time to stop him before the crazy daredevil did something incredibly stupid. True, the fall likely wouldn't kill him, but he could easily break something - and Jared only hoped it wouldn't be his neck.

"Jensen, wait!" Jared was only a twenty or so feet away from him now, but then his shoes were slipping on the linoleum floor, and the ground was rushing up and-

'Dean' looked up at him, and wait, were those tears that Jared saw in his eyes? "I'm coming back for you, Sammy. Promise."

In a last ditch, desperate effort to snap the other man out of his delusion, Jared shouted the only thing that came into his head. "I'm not Sam!"

And then Jensen jumped.

Jared's heart nearly stopped as he finally reached the window, and he was pretty sure he didn't breathe until he saw Jensen roll, alive and seeming to be in fairly good shape, all things considered.

Jared heard the familiar shouts of security guards from outside. They would have been already informed of the escape attempt, and would bring Jensen back in - probably sedated.

Jensen's eyes flashed betrayal as he glanced up at Jared, still looking on helplessly from the window. The meaning of the stare came across loud and clear, and Jared was the one to break the eye contact first, glancing away as Jensen broke into a limping run. Great...

Why did Jensen's multiple personality have to be such a risk-taker? _And one with a freakishly high pain tolerance_ , Jared added mentally. It was just his luck, really...

Jared reached the door leading to the stairs, and he ran down them as fast as possible. The chances of Jensen getting tased and/or sedated at the end of this had gone up to ninety-eight percent.

By the time Jared was outside, the security guards had caught up to Jensen, leaving him just in time to see one of them stick him in the arm with a sedative.

" _NO!_ " He could hear Jensen scream and saw him thrashing to get away, a heavy pit forming in his stomach at the scene.

Jared ran over quickly, the knot in his stomach clenching even tighter to see that Jensen was crying - probably a side-effect of getting sedated on top of already having a bad day.

The other man was practically incoherent, mumbling something that Jared couldn't quite make out. Suddenly, though, Jensen looked up and managed to lock his eyes on Jared's face. "S'mmy... 'm sorry…"

Jared kept his face perfectly calm and soothing as he walked over and knelt down in front of the crying man. "Just let the sedative do its thing, Jensen. It's okay. It's all going to be okay."

It was obvious that 'Dean' was forcing his eyes to stay open, fighting the drugs with everything he had - which wasn't a lot. "No... S'mmy…"

Jared sighed. Neither Jensen nor 'Dean' were usually very emotional. How much freaking sedative had the guards shot him up with?! "Just go to sleep, Jensen… You'll remember everything when you wake up…"

As Jared murmured empty assurances, Jensen's eyes slowly started to slide closed. "'S all my fault… 'm sorry… not fast 'nough to save you…"

Jared couldn't keep his heart from twisting at the obvious pain in his patient's voice - a broken ankle and drugged half to oblivion, and 'Dean' was still apologizing for not keeping him safe. "Stop fighting it, Jensen…" he soothed. "It's all going to be alright."

He glanced up from his charge to see Dr. Sheppard casually strolling toward the commotion, smirking smugly. "Well, then," he commented in his British accent, not even bothering to kneel down to Dean's level. "Another escape attempt failed?"

Jensen's eyes widened, despite the sedative. "S'mmy... 's him…" Jensen started struggling to push himself up. "Y'can't have 'm. 'S my brother."

Sheppard seemed mildly amused. "Can't have who, Jensen? Last time I checked..." he leaned over, chuckling, "You don't have a brother."

Never once had anyone accused Sheppard of being too compassionate towards any of the patients. But this was a new low, even for him. _Mocking_ a patient's illness?! And while they were hurt and drugged, no less. Hell, the poor guy was barely even conscious. Jared cast the older man a warning gaze, but if he noticed, he didn't acknowledge it.

Jensen shook his head stubbornly. "Doesn' matter wha' you think... or even if he's not. F'mly don' end wi' blood…" His head drooped a little, and Jared thought he was finally done before the battered man forced his gaze up again. "You can't hurt 'm."

Jared put a hand on the man's shoulder. God, Sheppard could be a douche sometimes... "Hey, Jensen… No one's going to hurt me, alright? Whether I'm your brother or not. I need you to calm down and stop fighting the sedative… It's only going to give you a bigger headache when you wake up."

Tears rolled down Jensen's face as he started sagging down weakly. "Jus' want you t'be safe..".

"I know, buddy…" Jared sighed. That really _did_ seem to be all 'Dean' wanted - to keep his imaginary brother out of harm's way. Well, that, sex, and "better food - this hospital stuff sucks ass!" He started to rub soothing circles into Jensen's back. "I'll be there when you wake up. Just go to sleep…"

Jensen smiled a little. "Trus' you, S'mmy…" Finally, the man gave into the sedative, his eyes drooping shut as he allowed his body to slump to the ground.

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "Another outburst? Seriously?"

Jared swallowed, frowning at Sheppard's tone. "He's getting better… Just didn't take his meds." He sighed. "I should have kept a better eye on him."

Sheppard shrugged. "Well, it's not exactly your fault the kid's lost it. ...I'll call someone from orthopaedics to set that ankle. "

Jared nodded, watching as two of the guards picked Jensen up, placing him on a stretcher and wheeling him back inside. Jared started to follow them, but Sheppard pulled him aside.

"Look, Jared…" Sheppard looked at him, and Jared could tell by his tone that he wasn't going to like what the other man said next. "I know you and Jensen have been working well together... But I don't think we can take care of him here anymore."

What?

"What do you mean?" Jared swallowed, more than just a little bit confused, but _definitely_ not liking where this was going.

"I mean that maybe we need to move him up to the state institution for longer term care," Sheppard explained what Jared had already guessed.

"From what I observed, he was doing better, sir," Jared stated quickly. "He just… had another fit and somehow avoided swallowing his pills. We just need to make sure he's actually taking his medication. This is the closest institution to his family. They'd have to take a large amount of time out of their daily schedule to visit him if he went somewhere else."

Sheppard only sighed. "I don't think we can deal with such a volatile patient. Jared, he _attacked_ you. He's hiding meds. This is the second escape attempt that's gotten outside the building. We simply aren't equipped to deal with him here and you know it."

Sheppard had a point, as much as Jared disliked the notion of Jensen going somewhere else. It was just because he didn't want to see the man separated from his family, he reasoned with himself. That was the only reason he cared so much about Dr. Sheppard's surprise announcement.

He frowned. "I know, sir. But...I just have trouble believing he'll do any better there. He thinks I'm his brother. Take him away from here and he might grow worse, even more volatile. Even his fake self isn't usually that dangerous. He just needs to be a bit more controlled."

"It's not healthy," Sheppard told him sternly. "The relationship he has with you. You heard him; he's so determined to protect you he doesn't even care if you're his brother or not. You're not supposed to get attached to the patients like this, Jared."

Jared nodded slowly. "I realize that, sir. I understand. Is it alright if I'm the one who tells him? If 'Dean's' the one conscious at the time, I don't think he'd react well to anyone else giving him the news. Especially not you, when he thinks you're some sort of… demon or something."

Sheppard nodded. "The state institution is only a day's drive away," he added. "His family could make a trip up every weekend, so no need to worry about that."

"I suppose they could," Jared conceded. Somehow, that didn't make the empty feeling in his gut at the thought of Jensen's transfer go away. "Thank you, sir," he said, only because he knew that was what he was expected to do.

"It's no trouble, Jared," Sheppard said, smiling and clapping him on the shoulder. "I just want what's best for him... and for you, naturally."

Jared frowned, looking at him. "For _me_?"

"I've noticed that you've gotten rather attached to Jensen while he's been here," Sheppard explained. "This might be better for everyone. Who knows, hmm?" The older man shrugged, seemingly indifferent to the situation.

Jared nodded. "I understand. I'll give him the news once he wakes up."

"He'll be leaving once he does. I've already informed his family," Sheppard said.

"So soon?"

"I'm not one to waste time. For what it's worth though, you've seemed to have made progress with him. I do think the squirrel's going to pull through eventually." Sheppard gave him an attempt at a reassuring smile - which really wasn't all that reassuring.

"...Yes, sir," Jared sighed. If _getting_ this news stung, giving it to Jensen - or worse, 'Dean' - was gonna be… Well... he didn't really want to think about it.

* * *

 **Oh… Nothing can ever be easy, can it? We'll leave you there and see you next Tuesday! Please remember to leave us a review to tell us what you thought! - Mimzy and Pixie**


	3. Wheel In The Sky

**Happy Tuesday!**

 **So, we'd just really like to thank all of you who've been following this story, especially the ones who're reviewing. It's a ton of fun to write, and we always love getting your feedback!**

 _ **Warnings for this chapter:**_ **Bad language and psych ward inaccuracies, as per usual.**

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ **We do not own Supernatural.**

* * *

" **Wheel In The Sky" - Journey**

* * *

Jensen woke up screaming.

Dark, darkness, demons with black eyes - _Sam_ \- they were going to - _Sam_ \- Fuck fuck fuck, he couldn't see, and then-

A comforting hand was on his shoulder. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, Jensen! Calm down. It was just a dream, okay? Just a dream." The voice murmured assurances to him until he finally forced his eyes open from where he'd squeezed them shut in fear.

It was pure instinct, a gut reaction to the face as adrenaline still coursed through his veins. " _Sam…_ "

The other man's brow creased. "It's Jared. Calm down. I'm fine. You're fine. Everything's fine."

 _Jared_. He sighed, leaning back into the pillow as the real world came back to him all at once, demons, and monsters, and nightmares all fading away. He sighed at the restraints on his wrists and good leg, scowled at the cast. 'Dean' had made another appearance. "Jared. Right."

Jared sat down on the chair next to him, looking at the floor. "We need to talk, Jensen."

Jensen swallowed. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I… Dean spit the pills in the plant." Jensen sighed again, ashamed of his imaginary counterpart's actions. "I know it's not much of an excuse... but Dean was in control."

"Is Dean still in control?" Jared looked at him sternly, unable to totally mask the hurt in his eyes. "Because I've discovered he's just as good of an actor as Jensen is."

Jensen shook his head quickly, trying to cover up for his momentary lapse. "N-no... No, Jared, it's Jensen. I swear it. I just had a moment of panic waking up from the nightmare."

Jared nodded, accepting the answer, before sighing. "...Jensen, I hate to tell you this, but Dr. Sheppard and I had a talk. We came to a conclusion, and… It's not working out for you here, Jensen."

"What do you mean?" Jensen looked at him, his gut clenching as he waited for the response he already knew was coming.

Jared wouldn't meet Jensen's eyes, and he _knew_. Another sigh. "You're getting better, Jensen; you really are. However, things are holding you back. I'm starting to worry that I'm one of them. And so… You're being transferred to the state institution."

" _What?_ " Jensen tried to sit up, but the restraints held secure. "But that's ten hours away! Camari and Keegan…"

Jared sighed guiltily, still not looking Jensen in the eye. "They can visit every weekend, Jensen. I'm sorry. But 'Dean' thinks I'm your brother; he tried to make another escape attempt, and… It's just not working out."

Jensen stared at him, inwardly panicking. "But... But we've always been able to handle Dean before. It was _one_ bad day, Jared. You always said those happen sometimes." His tone was pleading, silently begging Jared to fix this; to let him stay. He was working hard. He was getting better… he _was_.

"I know, Jensen. I know. But Dr. Sheppard…" Jared trailed off, sighing. "It's his orders, not mine."

Jensen took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "I'm a wack-job, Jared; I know that. I know I'm a problem. But _please_... You know I'm not always lucid. If they come at the wrong time... It could be months between the times I could talk to them." His voice wavered a little, though he quickly tried to steady it, face flushing bright red.

"I'm sorry, Jensen… I really am." Jared's voice was regretful, and Jensen could tell that he hated having to be the one bearing the bad news, but it didn't change anything. His life was even more screwed up now than it was before, and all because _Dean_...

Jensen closed his eyes, not willing to go down that line of thinking. "You realize I'm going to be literally all alone now, right?"

The other man swallowed hard."Yeah… I know." His brow creased in sympathy, accepting that there wasn't anything he could say, and so he put on a lighthearted expression, trying to make a joke. "Suppose you'll have Dean, but that's the whole problem, isn't it...?"

Something inside Jensen snapped, and he clenched his fists at the remark, glaring up at Jared with watery eyes. "Don't even _joke_ about that, Jared! He's ruined my _life_ , or don't you get that?!"

Jared flinched. "I know, I'm sorry… Too far."

Jensen closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath. Jared hadn't deserved that, especially when he was possibly the only person honestly trying to help him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Jared, I shouldn't've snapped…" He opened his eyes so the nurse could see the apology shining in them. "This isn't your fault."

"Jensen… If there was a way to keep you here… You know I'd go for it. But Dr. Sheppard…" Jared trailed off again, not finishing his sentence, but Jensen heard his meaning loud and clear.

He scowled at the name. "Dr. Sheppard doesn't give a _damn_ about me. He's not a demon, but… He just wants me to stop making the institution look bad."

"I know he can be a jerk. ...I can see why Dean thinks he's a monster." Jared chuckled slightly, but the smile quickly slipped from his face. "Y'know, Jensen… Maybe it's for the best. Maybe without 'little brother' around, 'Dean' will stop showing up as much."

Maybe everyone said that 'Dean' wasn't his fault, and that this was just a 'problem' he had, but Jensen couldn't stop the hot flush of shame from creeping across his face. "Jared, man…" He didn't know where to start. "...I'm so sorry. For everything. I'm an adult dude - a stranger - clinging to you all the time like a sobbing five-year-old. And everyone else just treats me like a head case. Even Camari. I guess... I guess I just latched onto you 'cause you were actually treating me like a person." He stopped himself before his voice could break and betray him.

Jared gave him a reassuring look. "Hey, it's okay, man. You're a good guy, and Dean's not… terrible. When it comes to multiple personalities, you actually got lucky. He's pretty decent. I mean... you're both… people. And I know he's a problem, but… Point is, this condition? It's not permanent."

When Jensen scoffed a little, clearly not buying it, he shrugged, smiling slightly. "And to be honest, Dean _did_ have a pretty good air guitar solo, despite all the problems he's caused. You'll get over him someday, and get to go back to being with your family, like you should be."

"That's if they'll take me back," Jensen let the words slip out without thinking, but at Jared's questioning look, he knew he had to go on, so he sighed, swallowing his pride, and looked the other man dead in the eye. "You know why Camari was coming today?"

"Not exactly…" Jared frowned, clearly trying to remember something Jensen knew for sure he'd never been told.

"It's been half a year." Jensen's voice was dull, resigned. "That was the deal. She'd give me half a year." He hesitated, unsure of how to put this. "We... haven't been getting along so great."

Jared looked at him for a moment, confused, but then slowly processing what he was saying. "Oh… " His face colored in embarrassment and sympathy for the other man. "Dude, I'm sorry."

Jensen ducked his head, swallowed hard. Damn, it was bad enough without Jared knowing…

"That's… That's rough." Jared coughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Jensen fixed his gaze firmly on the picture hanging from the wall so he wouldn't have to meet Jared's eyes. Maybe he could salvage some dignity from all this. "I can't exactly blame her. And then... you... actually treating me like a human…" He closed his eyes, took a deep breath to resettle his trembling voice. "Just, I'm sorry, okay?"

Jared's voice was soothing, reassuring, but Jensen didn't care. This was humiliating. "It's okay, man. It's okay… Nothing to be sorry for. It's not your fault…"

He chuckled grimly, but real shame crept through his dark humor and bled into his tone. "D-Dude, I am supposed to be an adult and I am tied to a friggin bed crying to a stranger. It doesn't get any more pathetic than this."

"A stranger? Really?" Jared scoffed, putting on a face of mock hurt. "Wow. Gee, thanks, man. And it's fine. Don't worry about it. I'm gonna miss you. And… I think I can let you out of your restraints now." The pressure on Jensen's wrists and ankle eased, and he sat up mechanically, without thinking about it. "That better?"

Jensen didn't need his pity, and the lying only made it sting worse. He didn't meet Jared's eyes as he spoke, and his voice was only a little above a whisper. "You don't have to pretend, okay? I'm just another nutcase who acts a fifth of his age. Being decent to me is more than enough. You don't have to pretend to be my _friend_ , too."

Jared shrugged, an almost guilty expression on his face. "Who said I'm pretending? As I said, I'm not supposed to get attached to patients, but… um, it's a problem…"

Jensen shrugged too, forcing a bitter smile. "Yeah, well, I'm not exactly the greatest guy to hang with at the moment. I'm a lot cooler when I'm working the red carpet. ...Like that's ever gonna happen again."

"It will. Eventually. Just, uh, just give it time, man…" Jared managed to give him a small grin before he furrowed his brow, rubbing his temple and grimacing.

Jensen frowned at the other man's pained expression. "Jared? You good, man?"

Jared nodded, removing his hand from his head. "Yeah. Yeah, I just get these killer headaches sometimes, you know?"

"Know the feeling." Jensen gave him a sympathetic look, ruefully rubbing the sore spot where the security guards had jabbed him with a sedative. The side effects of his meds could really give him a killer migraine when they wanted to.

Jared chuckled. "Hey, 'Dean' had that coming. He jumped out of a window."

"So I gather." The dryness in Jensen's tone made the Sahara seem like a flood zone. He smirked, deciding to give Jared grief about it. "C'mon, a white cast? Really? Not even anything cool, like green?"

Jared gave him a look, trying to hide a laugh and failing, much to Jensen's amusement. "Really? You're complaining about the _cast color_?"

"Yeah, really." He snorted. "Dude, the only good part about breaking a bone is the cast. C'mon."

"What, you want me to sign it?" Jared was totally grinning, the giant dopey smile spreading across his face again.

Jensen raised an eyebrow, pretending not to notice and swallowing a snicker. "Knock yourself out. But no drawing anything inappropriate, dude. I mean, Dean might be ten, but you don't have an excuse."

Jared shook his head, taking out a pen from his front pocket and signing Jensen's cast with a grin, right above the toe. "Don't worry. Pretty sure 'Sam' always was the responsible one of that brotherhood, from what I've heard. Or he would have been if he was real…" The nurse winced visibly. "Sorry."

It was a little while before Jensen spoke again, and when he did, it was slowly. "...You know? I... that sorta doesn't bother me the way it used to. I know you saying something like that used to freak me out, but... I dunno." He shrugged, feeling a little stupid. "It just... doesn't."

Jared smiled slightly, clapping him on the back. "That's a good sign. You're fully accepting the problem. Step one, man."

Jensen just looked down at the linoleum floor. How did he even begin to explain this? "I know I should be happy, that it's progress... but... I don't know. Does that even make sense? How can I be missing Sam? He's not even real."

Jared only shrugged. "I don't know… I think I'll miss Dean a bit. And he's not even real either… How about that, huh?"

"Well _, I_ sure as hell won't miss him." Jensen chuckled a little, then paused as a thought struck him. "You know… he _is_ a part of me, right? An annoying pain-in-the-ass part, but he's part of me. It's not like he's gonna… disappear or anything." Damn, he wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Jared or himself at this point.

Jared gave him a small smile. "Yeah, I know he is, buddy. That's why I kinda like him. You would have made an amazing big brother."

Jensen snorted, rolling his eyes at the stupid nickname. "I'd be a shit big brother. And you know I hate it when you call me that. Bitch."

"Jerk."

He grinned at the easy banter that seemed to fill a weird, aching hole in his gut."Hey, if I get better, I'll stop by sometime. Let you know I'm out again."

Jared gave him a stern glance. "Not _if_ you get better, dude. _When._ Because you're going to, understand?"

Jensen nodded, still a little unsure and feeling that he needed to clarify. "It'd just be nice. To have a brother like Dean's Sam."

"I could do with my own version of 'Dean,' too…" Jared swallowed, his face coloring slightly. "But hey, it's going to be fine, yeah? We'll keep in touch."

"I'm still not sold on why the hell you'd want to stay in touch with Mr. Crazy, but…" Jensen shrugged, trying to pretend he wasn't bothered.

Clearly Jared wasn't fooled. His eyes softened considerably and he moved to sit next to Jensen on the bed. "Hey, you're a cool guy, Jensen…"

Whatever comfort the other man was going to offer was interrupted by a knock on the door, and Dr. Sheppard walked in, clearing his throat. "So sorry to intrude… Mr. Ackles, the ambulance is here to take you to the state institution."

Jensen looked up at Jared hesitantly as he nodded. He wasn't ready to leave, not yet. He had a feeling Jared wasn't ready for him to go either.

Jared gave him a reassuring smile, but it was obvious that he was just as upset underneath his friendly, professional mask. "Hey, you'll be fine. Lots of nice people there, I've heard."

Jensen snorted. "Lots of _crazy_ people, I've heard," he corrected.

"But _nice_ crazy people."

Jensen couldn't hold back a grin. "In my natural habitat."

"Something like that," Jared snickered. "I'm sure you'll fit right in."

Jensen gave him a look of mock offense. "Hey!"

Dr. Sheppard cleared his throat again. "Like I said, Mr. Ackles has a check-in time already confirmed." As he spoke, Jensen caught sight of the two paramedics filling the doorway behind him, wheeling in another one of those stupid gurneys. God, he was growing to hate those things.

Jared stood up, carefully keeping his tone light as he helped Jensen onto the gurney, careful of his bad foot. "Well then, time to go." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Ah… I suppose this is… goodbye."

But Jensen shook his head. "Nah. I'm getting out, remember?"

Jared grinned halfheartedly in return. "More like a see you later, then."

God help him, this sounded like a scene right out of some crummy teenage romance… The only thing missing was the dead puppy. He chuckled despite the situation. "This is such a goddamn chick flick moment."

Jared let out a sharp laugh, like he wasn't expecting it even as it came out of his mouth. "Yeah, none of that. I mean, come on, we're grown men here."

Jensen forced a grin, trying to ignore the twisted feeling in his stomach. "Exactly."

Jared saw right through the mask and nodded knowingly, sympathy written across his features. "But hey, getting a change of scenery. Maybe that'll help."

Jensen rolled his eyes, grumbling, "Yeah, a different four walls." He glared at the paramedics as they strapped him down to the gurney. "That really necessary?"

Dr. Sheppard gave an exasperated, over-dramatic sigh. " _Procedure_ , Mr. Ackles…" Jensen decided to look on the bright side. No more Sheppard, that was definitely a plus. And at least he'd gotten a good jab or two in before he left. Jensen didn't really regret that "Dean" attacked the man with that fork.

Jensen tried his best to look nonchalant as they lifted him into the ambulance, not wanting to show any more emotion about the ordeal than he already had. "It's like my own personal throne-bearers, yeah?"

Jared snorted, grinning widely. "Only the best for you, Mr. Ackles."

Jensen wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Dude, don't call me 'Mr. Ackles.' It's... it's creepy."

Jared's grin only widened. "Trying to be professional in front of my boss, man. Maybe get a raise. Goodness knows I deserve one, yeah?"

"Just makin' you earn your keep." The snarky retort made his friend chuckle. "You gotta _work_ for your pay, y'know." The paramedics moved to close the ambulance doors and he swallowed the lump in his throat, smiling weakly. "See ya later."

Jared nodded. "Hey, once you're out, you better come visit, understand? If you don't, I'll hunt you down and drag your crazy butt down to my place myself."

Jensen couldn't hold back a grin at the teasing threat. "Careful what you wish for."

Jared's grin wavered, and Jensen could tell the nurse was struggling to maintain his composure. "Yeah, you too… See you, Jensen."

Jensen wiggled his fingers a little in a wave right before the paramedics slammed the door shut. And then the ambulance was pulling away, taking him farther and farther away from Deerwater, from Camari, from Keegan… from Jared. Weirdly… the last one bothered him most of all.

* * *

 **We hope you enjoyed this! Sorry the chapter didn't have much action in it, but this is where the story really starts to kick off. See you next week! - Mimzy and Pixie**


	4. Welcome to Paradise

**HEAAAT OF THE MOMENT!**

 **You know what that means? Tuesday! (Don't worry, we don't kill Dean in this chapter.) And so, please enjoy the next installment! We'd like to thank all of you who've been reviewing, especially the guest reviewers as we can't personally thank those through a private message. Thanks for all your support!**

 _ **Warnings for this chapter:**_ **Some bad language and the hospital-from-hell, per usual.**

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ **We do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.**

* * *

" **Welcome to Paradise" - Green Day**

* * *

Jensen looked up as a man - whose name he was pretty sure started with an 'h' - entered the small, brightly lit intake room. "Um, Dr... Dr. Haindahl?" The name was a shot in the dark, but it sounded right.

The man tilted his head to the side, grinning. "Dr. Heyerdahl, actually." Well, Jensen had been close. "You must be our new patient… Jensen Ackles, is it?" Dr. Heyerdahl's voice was slow, raspy, and a little on the nasally side, and there was a gleam in the man's icy blue eyes that just didn't seem right.

Jensen nodded a little anyway, smiling slightly. New place, new start, he might as well make a good first impression. "Yeah. They just sent me over from Deerwater."

Dr. Heyerdahl hummed slightly. "How wonderful. I've read your file. You seem like an… interesting case."

Jensen shifted in his chair, more embarrassed than he cared to admit, and forced a cheeky grin. "Yeah, well. They don't exactly send you guys the boring ones, do they?"

Dr. Heyerdahl's grin only widened. "Of course not, Mr. Ackles. Shall I show you your new room?" He didn't wait for an answer, going through the door he had come in and turning right.

Jensen used his crutches to hoist himself up awkwardly, hobbling after the doctor in a vain attempt to catch up. "So you're my new psychiatrist, right? They threw a bunch of names at me doing intake; hard to keep 'em straight."

Dr. Heyerdahl nodded as he quickly turned another corner - was the dude _trying_ to make him lose his balance on these things?"You and I will be sure to have a lot of… fun together."

Jensen hesitated for a moment at the strange tone in the man's voice before chuckling, slightly breathless from the exertion of trying to keep up. "Yeah, what's more fun than antipsychotics?"

"Well, I heard you got along fine with those at your last institution… So I would say… yes." The doctor's voice was clipped but amused, and Jensen frowned.

Well, that wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear. "Sorry, sir, but what do you mean, 'yes?'"

Dr. Heyerdahl shrugged dismissively. "Oh, I just meant that since you had such _interesting_ time there, it would be the same here. No worries."

Jensen chuckled awkwardly. "Well, actually going for something a bit different here. Like, I dunno, just Jensen. No 'Dean.'"

Dr. Heyerdahl pace seemed to quicken slightly. "Of course, Mr. Ackles. Do try and keep up."

Stumbling along behind on his crutches Jensen followed him, trying to keep up, keep his balance, and look around the hall at the same time. "Where are all the patients right now?"

"They're… around." Jensen would have sworn the older man was smirking, but he couldn't keep up enough to see his face. "We usually keep them in their rooms."

 _What?_ What kind of wacko hospital was this? Jensen swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice from wavering. "O-oh. Okay. I... Uh, I see."

Dr. Heyerdahl's voice was smooth and practiced. "For their own good, of course, Mr. Ackles. They get together at meals and are able to socialize there."

"Of course…" Jensen's voice was quiet. Maybe the doctor was only telling him part of the story or something. Maybe… "I mean, at Deerwater we had... groups and stuff," he tried. "We at least got out of our _rooms_."

Dr. Heyerdahl's laugh was even more disturbing than his regular voice. "Groups? Adorable. However, not the most efficient. Sometimes solitude is the only cure to insanity, Mr. Ackles."

 _Insanity?_ Jesus Christ, this was a different approach than Deerwater. His whole time there, not once had someone outright called him off the deep end. From the looks of things, though, the state hospital played with a little more 'tough love.' He nodded slowly. "I guess?"

Dr. Heyerdahl finally, mercifully _,_ stopped, opening a door. "Ah, here we are." He walked in, gesturing for him to follow.

Jensen eyes widened a little as he took in the bare room, nearly gaping at the stark white walls and metal cot with a thin mattress, pillow, and blanket. That was it. The bed was the only furniture in the tiny room - tiny _cell_ , he amended in his head.

He couldn't help but mutter under his breath, "And I thought Deerfield looked like a prison…"

Dr. Heyerdahl turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. "Do you have a problem with the way we operate, Mr. Ackles?"

Jensen shifted uncomfortably, unable to hold the doctor's unyielding gaze. "Just... surprised, I guess."

Dr. Heyerdahl tilted his head to the side, glancing around the room and chuckling. "I'm sure you'll get used to it."

Jensen paused before looking at the doctor, almost in disbelief that this was seriously happening. "How long am I supposed to stay here?"

The answer was swift, smooth, and emotionless. "As long as it takes."

"So... So what, patients here just... sit in their rooms all day? How does that help us get better?" Jensen was torn between terror and anger and he was willing to bet that he wasn't having much success keeping them off his face.

Dr. Heyerdahl grinned again and Jensen fought down the urge to run as far away from the doctor as he could, if only to get out from under his almost predatorial stare. "Oh, you and I will have sessions, of course. Talk about how things are working. You'll have your medication. And you can talk to the other patients at meals."

Jensen sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed, nodding. "Right. Of course." This entire ordeal was so messed up… What the hell kind of hospital was this, anyway?

Dr. Heyerdahl glanced at the door. "Well then. Shall I give you time to get adjusted to your new surroundings?"

Jensen paused, not really wanting the doctor to stay any longer than he had to, but... "Actually, could I have a painkiller?" He gestured to his casted leg with one of his crutches. "It's starting to wear off. I think Deerfield made sure I had a prescription all written out before I left."

"Hmm, I can't see any current issue with it. You'll receive one at lunch, which should be in fifteen minutes. I'm sure the small wait won't be any issue?" Dr. Heyerdahl looked at him as if he didn't really expect an answer, and Jensen got the feeling that it didn't really matter if it would be an issue or not. He was just going to have to wait no matter how much it hurt.

Jensen gave him a small smile, trying to make amends for his initial reaction to the hospital. He was going to be here for a while, he couldn't afford to be on anyone's bad side. "No, it's fine. Thank you, doctor."

"No, thank _you_." With that, Dr. Heyerdahl turned, strutting out of the room and shutting the door behind him.

Jensen couldn't hold back a flinch when he heard the lock click.

He sighed, laying back on the bed to wait, using the pillow to prop his ankle up. "'Nice people,' huh, Jared? Forgot to mention that it's a _prison_ , didn't you?" Still muttering profanities under his breath, Jensen let his eyes slide closed. If this was 'home' for now, might as well get comfortable.

* * *

Jensen didn't know how much time had passed before he heard the turn of the lock on his door again, but from the tight growling in his stomach and the steady throb of his ankle, he guessed it had been a lot more than fifteen minutes.

Dr. Heyerdahl walked back in the room again, that freaky grin still plastered to his face. "Time for lunch, Mr. Ackles. I'm assuming you'd like to join your other patients? If your ankle is… too much of a burden, I could always have one of the nurses bring it to you."

Jensen grabbed his crutches. Like he was going to pass up a chance to get out of the room he would apparently be locked up for almost his entire stay at the state institution. "Nah, it's cool." He pulled himself up awkwardly, starting toward the door.

"Glad to hear it. Follow me." Dr. Heyerdahl walked out again, and once again Jensen had to struggle to keep up. He was really getting to hate this guy.

Dr. Heyerdahl led him to a large cafeteria, and thankfully, didn't stick around to chat, instead going to the other side of the room to talk to one of the other doctors.

Jensen scanned the room, looking around for an empty seat. He felt strangely like he was the new kid at school again, the sensation weirdly familiar and sending a jolt of pain through his head. What the hell? He'd never moved as a kid, never switched schools… Blinking the pain back, he noticed a table in the corner of the room that was nearly empty, the only occupant being a lone patient in hospital scrubs with messy raven hair.

Well, no time like the present for making new friends. Jensen plastered a smile on his face and hobbled over on his crutches. "Mind if I join you?"

The man looked up with clear blue eyes that widened in shock as they lit on Jensen's face and sparked in recognition. He opened and closed his mouth before finally speaking. "...It's you. Dean." And Jensen froze.

 _No no no no no…_

After a second, the man's brow furrowed and he looked away, blinking and shaking his head, muttering to himself under his breath. "Wait, no. Don't know you." He glanced up again, smiling easily and chuckling. "Well, there is this rather interesting voice in my head that _thinks_ he does that occasionally makes an appearance. But nope. I'm Misha, by the way. Assuming your name is not actually Dean."

Jensen was still stuck staring at the other patient, who was at this point holding out a friendly hand for him to shake. He barely processed it, his voice cracking as he spoke. "I am _not_ Dean, okay? Dean is _not_ real."

The man - Misha - held up his hands in surrender, pulling back the offered handshake as Jensen made no move to take it. "Hey, man, it's just what Cas thinks your name is. Cas being the voice in my head, and sometimes alternate personality. Crazy, me. Then again, aren't all of us here?" Jared's smile had been big and dorky, but this guy grinned like he thought he was the goddamn Cheshire Cat.

But still, Jensen had nowhere else to sit, and his ankle was throbbing like mad, and screw everything, he was freaking hungry. He smiled uneasily, sitting down across from the other man and nodding a greeting. "Jensen."

"Nice to meet you, Jensen," the man said in a friendly voice. "As I said, name's Misha. Where you from?"

Jensen grinned ruefully. "Hollywood, believe it or not. I was _gonna_ be an actor." He poked at his already congealing mashed potatoes with a plastic spoon and made a face. "Look how far the mighty have fallen."

Misha took a bite of his own food, wrinkling his nose slightly before swallowing. "I was sort of a jack of all trades, I guess. A poet. I actually was able to design and build my own house. ...I can also build igloos; those are cool." He chuckled at his own pun and then shrugged. "I was doing this little um, video series with my son. It was fun for him, so…"

Jensen couldn't hold back a genuine smile at Misha's mention of his kid. "I'm a dad, too. My little girl's Keegan."

"Cute name." Misha took another bite, before asking, "So, what's your problem? Already said mine. Socially awkward person in my head named 'Castiel.' I call him Cas for short."

Jensen rubbed the back of his neck. "I think the latest diagnosis was paranoid schizophrenia. I have... these sorta delusions where I think I'm…" He trailed off, not really wanting to explain Dean's whole fantasy world to the other patient.

"You're… what? Something embarrassing?" There wasn't any judgement in Misha's tone, just genuine curiosity, but Jensen reddened anyway.

He shook his head, chuckling nervously. "Nah, just... weird. The guy I think I am's named Dean. Funny coincidence, huh?"

Misha laughed at that. "Dude, I think my alternate personality and yours are BFFs."

"I dunno, mine's a bit of a dick." He gestured to the cast, lifting his ankle so Misha could see. "Gave me this."

Misha looked at it, arching an eyebrow. "How'd he manage to do that?"

"Apparently," Jensen scoffed, "he jumped out a window. He's a bit of a Houdini... with a smart mouth to boot." One who had no sense of self-preservation or common sense, and who thought it was cool to sleep around when he already had a wife, and who...

A laughing voice broke into his thoughts. "I like him already."

Jensen shot the other patient a look that clearly said he didn't find 'Dean' nearly as funny. "That makes one of us. Dean's caused a few problems. Hopefully you won't meet him too often." He changed the subject, lowering his voice. "So do they really just keep us locked in our rooms?"

"Yup." Misha shrugged nonchalantly, seemingly unfazed by how freaking _creepy_ that was. Seriously, was his life some sort of horror flick? At his expression, Misha hurried to explain. "I mean, it does make it so no one's embarrassed about any outburst they have, unless they do it at a meal." He gestured to another one of the other patients who was currently standing on one of the tables, waving his arms around wildly while multiple doctors and security guards tried to calm him down. "Like Fred over there."

Jensen looked over at 'Fred,' watching in sympathy as the man was sedated and carried out on a stretcher. "Yeah, but, I mean... Doesn't that seem kinda creepy to you? The last place I was at had group therapy, and individual therapy, and a common room... It was downright homey compared to this joint."

Misha let out a low whistle, eyes widening slightly. "Group therapy and a common room? Huh, what do I have to do to get sent there?" After a second, he seemed to reconsider. "Then again, at this place at least, there are times when I'd rather be alone than be around the docs. They're strict, man. No sense of humor whatsoever."

At that, Jensen stiffened, becoming keenly aware of Dr. Heyerdahl's stare burning into his back from across the room. The dude was a real piece of work. He found himself dropping his voice even lower - ridiculous, he was allowed to talk - but still. Something about the doctor made him need to make sure he wasn't overheard. "Tell me about it. Dr. Heyerdahl? He's my doctor, and he's creepy as hell.

"Heyerdahl? Mine too." Misha glanced up for a half second, just long enough to see the doctor watching them, before ducking his head again, consciously or not matching Jensen's low voice. "I think he hates me. No idea why, but I just get this feeling that he's out for my head, you know? Cas dislikes him even more than I do. Says he wants to kill me. Course, that can't be right." He laughed a little - that tight, nervous laugh Jensen knew from experience, having done it himself all too often to diffuse tension. "Cas is paranoid."

Jensen let it slide. "He gives me the creeps. Looks at me like... like I dunno, like a piece of meat."

Misha grimaced, rubbing his temple. "Yeah, I know the feeling…" he agreed distractedly, blinking hard. Before he could finish his sentence, the dark-haired man let out a hiss of pain.

"Hey, Misha, you okay, man? Migraine?" He glanced up sympathetically. "Maybe you could ask for a painkiller or something."

The other patient seemed confused for a moment, blinking at him for a long moment before shaking his head. "That… is not my name." His voice had suddenly deepened, the playful tone gone and a rough, low, gravelly one taking its place. The change was like night and day, and Jensen wondered if it was this weird watching him switch to 'Dean.'

"So... so this is Castiel now." Jensen hesitated slightly, not wanting to say the wrong thing and make this even worse. "Should I get a doctor? Misha sort of told me about you but didn't say... do you have an as-needed med you gotta take?"

'Castiel' looked at Jensen as if seeing him for the first time, the once warm and friendly blue eyes now piercing and otherworldly. "Dean. It is good to see you're alright." He shook his head, looking around to take in the cafeteria with a practiced eye. "Things are… strange here. I do not remember everything. I am not sure as to who I am, exactly… This 'Misha' seems to have taken almost complete control of myself and my memory."

No, no, shit, this could _not_ be happening. The last thing Jensen needed right now was trouble, was someone calling him Dean and enforcing the delusions. He pulled back, ignoring the pounding of his head - he wouldn't listen. "Uh, no, Misha. We don't know each other. We just met. And my name's Jensen, not Dean." Realizing he wasn't getting through to the other patient, he sighed, muttering to himself, "I should probably call someone."

He swore when he realized Dr. Heyerdahl was the only doctor still in the cafeteria, the others already escorting patients back to their rooms. For a second, he considered letting it go,but one glance at Misha, who seemed to be trying to remember and recite a Latin chant, and his choice was made. "Uh... Dr. Heyerdahl?"

Dr. Heyerdahl walked over as though he had been waiting, grinning overly politely. "Does there seem to be a problem, Mr. Ackles? Mr. Collins here can easily be sedated if he seems to be too much...trouble."

Jensen frowned, shaking his head quickly. Since when was sedating someone plan A? "No, Misha's cool. Just, does he have a PRN for when his split personality surfaces?"

Misha - no, ' _Castiel'_ \- glanced at him, confusion mixed with betrayal etched into his features. "Dean, what are you doing? You know who he is…"

Jensen couldn't help but snap at the name. "I'm _Jensen_ , Misha." This was so not helping his already pounding head… He closed his eyes.

'Castiel' frowned, shooting him a look. "I am not this… Misha you speak of. Misha is the imposter, Dean."

"Ah, I see the problem now." Heyerdahl tutted sadly, as if Misha were a disobedient child. "Don't worry. Come along now, Mr. Collins. Let's go get your medication. Stand up now."

Misha glared at him the doctor, a determined expression on his face. "I know what you're doing." Misha looked down, blinking. "I think..."

"He's just trying to help, Misha." Jensen smiled reassuringly, hoping that 'Castiel' wasn't going to cause a big scene.

"I won't do as he asks. He's up to something…"

The doctor's smile grew wider, although he pretended to be dismayed at his patient's refusal. "Don't resist me, Mr. Collins," he chided, "or I'll have to sedate you. For your own good, of course. Now, stand up. Time to go."

Misha only frowned stubbornly, not budging from his seat.

Jensen tried to smile reassuringly, knowing only too well how scary and confusing it was in the middle of a delusion, and getting sedated only made it worse. "It's okay, Misha. Just do what the doctor says, and-"

Misha cut him off, on the verge of panic now. "No, I won't do it. I-"

Before Misha could even finish his sentence, Dr. Heyerdahl pulled out a needle and stuck Misha in the arm with it, sedating him. "That's better."

" _Hey_!" Jensen stared at the doctor in utter disbelief, reaching out to grab his new friend and lower him gently to a safe position. "What was that for? He wasn't violent or anything!"

Dr. Heyerdahl looked at Jensen, wearing a slight, smug grin. "He was resisting. Having another fit, you might say." The man shrugged, totally unconcerned with the patient slumped over on the table. "It's always easier to deal with Mr. Collins himself, not his alternate personality. He'll be just fine, Mr. Ackles. One might say that Mr. Collins was already unconscious. It was 'Castiel' who was in control, yes?"

Jensen gaped at the bearded man in front of him. "But he _wasn't_ having a fit! He was totally calm!"

"I'm not sure how they operated at your last institution, Mr. Ackles, but here…" Dr. Heyerdahl's lip curled upwards with contempt. "We don't tolerate outbursts. If a patient resists, we make him or her stop. I assume that won't be a problem?"

Jensen still couldn't believe what he was hearing. "But... but that wasn't an outburst!" Two orderlies arrived with a stretcher to carry Misha away, and Jensen could only watch, clenching his fists in fury. "That was him having a mental illness! You _treat_ those, _right?_ "

Dr. Heyerdahl scoffed. "Of course we do. We give him medication, we hold individual therapy… He's allowed to be whoever he wants when he is alone. He could be the Queen of Sheba or a pole dancer for all we care. When in the presence of fellow patients, however, I'd prefer my patients to hold on to their _true_ identities."

Jensen was still stuck on one thing, though. "He... he knew who I was." Realizing he'd spoken aloud, he looked up at the doctor. Sure the man was a wack-job, but maybe he was a wack-job with some answers. He did have a degree in psychology, after all. "Well, he knew 'Dean,' that is. Before I even told him."

Dr. Heyerdahl tilted his head to the side. something lighting up in his eyes that didn't seem very friendly. "Did he? How… interesting. What are you implying this means, Mr. Ackles? That Castiel is real?" Dr. Heyerdahl gave him an amused, patronizing grin. "That you're actually Dean, and that one man at your previous institution was really your brother?" Jensen froze. _How could he know…?_ Heyerdahl waved a hand in mock nonchalance. "Yes, I know about that. It was in your file. Do you think that _Jared_ ever really thought of you as a _friend_? More like a nuisance I'd guess, from the way you're acting now."

Jensen's face reddened furiously as the doctor pinpointed the very thoughts that had been going through his head for weeks and pulled them out. Somehow it was even worse hearing them aloud, in that nasally, scratchy voice, than just having them bouncing around in his head. "N-no, Dr. Heyerdahl, of course not. I know Dean's a delusion, I'm working on getting better." He purposely avoided addressing the comment about Jared, although the gleam in the older man's eyes said that this exclusion didn't go unnoticed.

"I would certainly hope so, Mr. Ackles. There is a rather fine line between fiction and reality. Let's not cross it, hmm?" Dr. Heyerdahl grinned again, seeming to enjoy himself far too much for Jensen's liking. His head was throbbing, and he was trapped in the hospital from hell, and now he was being talked to like a freaking _toddler…_

A sudden wave of agony shot through his head, and he squeezed his eyes shut as Heyerdahl became the lesser of his concerns for the moment, falling second to holding on to his identity. "No. Not Dean. I'm Jensen. _Jensen."_

Dr. Heyerdahl raised an eyebrow. "Does there seem to be a problem, Mr. Ackles?"

The name and the voice seemed to ground him, almost, and he used it to pull himself back, sighing in relief as he opened his eyes. He'd done it. 'Dean' had tried to take over and he'd fought him out. He'd done it...

"...Mr. Ackles?"

Jensen blinked, realizing that the doctor was waiting for a response. He shook his head. "N-no, I'm good. I just... I almost…"

"I see." Was it just his imagination, or did Heyerdahl seem almost disappointed that he'd managed to keep 'Dean' out? "I think lunchtime is over, no?"

Jensen looked down at the soggy lumps of 'food' on his tray, barely touched, and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so, too." He was almost grateful to go back to his cell. He had a lot of pieces, he just wasn't entirely sure they were part of the same puzzle.

* * *

 **So we hope you enjoyed tonight's chapter as things slowly begin to progress! And there was a bit more plot here to make up for last week's large amount of dialogue. What will Misha/Cas bring to the story? We certainly enjoyed writing it, and we hope you enjoyed reading it just as much. Thanks again! - Mimzy and Pixie**


	5. Land of Secret Dreams

**Hey, everyone! So looks like this is a shorter chapter than usual, sorry. However, that's not to say that it isn't eventful! *Cues dramatic music***

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ **We don't own anything associated with** _ **Supernatural**_ **.**

 _ **Warnings for this chapter**_ **: Language and the hospital-from-hell.**

* * *

 ** **"Land of Secret Dreams" - Orange Goblin****

* * *

A week. It had been a whole freaking _week._ A week locked in his one tiny cell, a week of 'therapy' sessions, which hadn't been exactly helpful in his opinion - mainly because of that strange gleam that never seemed to leave Dr. Heyerdahl's eyes. But so far 'Dean' hadn't decided to make any guest appearances, to his relief.

Jensen had quickly decided to stick to eating meals with Misha, who seemed to be relatively normal - well, comparatively speaking with the rest of the patients. The fact that their alter-egos seemed to know each other… Well, he tried not to think too hard about that. Scanning the room quickly, he found the dark-haired man at their usual corner table. "Hey, Misha," he said as he eased himself down. He was getting better at the crutches every day, but they were still a pain in the ass- no, more like a pain in the armpits.

Misha grinned at him. "Hey, Jensen. How's it going?"

 _Terrible._

Of course, Jensen didn't say that, instead smiling back half-heartedly. "Eh , no Dean yet. That's good, I guess."

"Guess so. Adjusting to life here?"

Jensen scoffed. "If by 'adjusting' you mean 'going _completely_ crazy,' then yeah, sure." He rolled his eyes, scowling. "How the hell is this… I mean, it's a hospital, not a prison! I've only been here a week and I'm already starting to freak out."

Misha shrugged. "Tell that to the docs. ...What were the ones at your last place like? I'm assuming less controlling since you're not used to this."

"I mean, they had _rules_ , sure, but…" He shook his head disbelievingly. "We're in solitary confinement nearly 24/7 here, Misha!"

Misha shushed him, whispering, "Quiet down. The lunch lady's glaring at you."

Jensen glanced over to find that the elderly woman was indeed shooting daggers with her eyes in his direction, ducking his head and lowering his voice. "How the hell is this place _legal_? Aren't there laws about this stuff?"

"Dunno." How was the other patient so unconcerned about all this? And on a different note, how could he stand to eat that… was that meatloaf? Misha speared a chunk with his plastic fork and popped it into his mouth, "It's not like anyone actually cares about crazy people, except for the families."

Jensen swallowed, curiosity getting the best of him. "Does yours... do they... Do you ever get visitors?" He immediately kicked himself mentally for the question when Misha looked down, but before he could take it back, the other man was talking.

"Yeah, occasionally… They don't live anywhere nearby, so they don't always have the money to be able to make the trip up here…" The other patient looked back up. "But visiting hours are harsh, man. Only an hour. Hour and a half, if you're lucky… And most of the time, it's all being watched. No privacy, for the most part."

Jensen's mouth quirked upwards in a sad smile. It was only fair he tell Misha about his family, seeing as the other patient had just given him the same courtesy. "Not like it matters much to me anymore. My wife's cutting ties."

Misha looked up, his eyes soft and sympathetic. "Oh, ouch… Man, that's rough."

Jensen couldn't bring himself to look at him, only shrugging. "Yeah, well, can't really blame her. I'm not exactly the man she married anymore."

"Well, things can happen…" Misha was trying his best to be optimistic and cheer him up. "Maybe once you're better, she'll take you back again."

Jensen just scowled and stabbed at the Styrofoam tray, poking holes in it with the butt of his knife. "Yeah. Yeah, maybe." And maybe Misha would take the hint and let the topic drop.

No such luck. "Don't give up hope, yeah?" Misha smiled just slightly, and Jensen held back a sigh. This guy was even more optimistic than Jared had been.

He pushed an odd green lump out of his mashed potatoes with his fork, grimacing. "Kinda hard not to, in a place like this. I mean, I keep hoping one day this food'll be edible, but so far, no dice." He couldn't even fake a laugh at his half-joke as a sudden stab of pain shot through his head.

Misha's brow furrowed slightly. "Hey, you okay?"

Jensen nodded, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing his temple. "'M good..." Jensen. Jensen Ackles. His name was _Jensen Ackles..._

* * *

Dean gasped in pain and looked up, eyes flying wide open before closing again in exhaustion. He'd done it. God, this 'Jensen' was one stubborn sonofabitch, but he'd done it. He'd...

A worried voice broke into his thoughts. "Jensen?"

He opened his eyes quickly as he realized the voice was talking to him - and his eyes widened in shock as he took in a familiar face. "C-Cas?" This was wrong, the voice was too high, and his friend wasn't wearing his trenchcoat, just a T-shirt, and what the hell was going on here?

Cas shook his head, frowning at him. "Nope, it's Misha. Cas hasn't made appearance since your first day here. Remember?"

Something wasn't right here. Mainly because while Cas was there, Sam wasn't. He managed to croak out, "Cas, where's Sam? He... He said he'd be there when I woke back up…"

"Sam who?"

Dean was so not in the mood for this shit right now… He squeezed his eyes shut tight, the freaking fluorescent lights were gonna make his head explode. " _Sam_. My _brother_. Your _friend._ "

Cas seemed almost as confused as he was. "..Eh?" Understanding lit on his face as something clicked. "Oh wait, you're Dean, aren't you?"

Yes, yes, he was. Dammit, nothing made sense anymore… Why did Cas seem so surprised?

Dean nodded, swaying unsteadily in his seat. "Course... course I 'm, Cas."

"Well, okay," Cas said, in a voice far too cheery for Dean's current mood, which fell somewhere between 'ripping heads off small animals' and 'shooting the damn lights out just to make them shut _off._ ' "So our alternate personalities are best buds after all. Okay, so I'm Misha. First time meeting you, actually. I know Jensen though."

"...Misha? What the hell?" Dean looked around anxiously, taking in his new surroundings for the first time, "Where are we? Where's Sam?"

"Was… Sam at Deerwater?" Cas tilted his head to the side. "You were transferred here from your last institution a week ago. Relax, Jensen. You'll be okay."

Oh, great, so Cas was under the same spell as Sam. Perfect. _Awesome_. Dean shook his head, leaning in and lowering his voice. "Cas. My name is _not_ Jensen. Yours is _not_ Misha. I don't know what's going on here, but it's something. Sam didn't remember either... He was a nurse, called himself Jared…"

Cas nodded slowly. "Oh, you mentioned him once or twice. But I'm pretty sure you stated that he wasn't your brother… So Dean - which is you right now - thinks Jared's Sam; you think I'm Cas - who's actually just a voice in my head, and the three of us are buddies?"

He shook his head, exasperated. "I'm Dean _all_ the time. Just... just I didn't remember it for a while. And there was this big blank spot... where this "Jensen" guy took over, I guess. And yeah, the three of us against the world…" Maybe this whole thing was some sort of possession?

'Misha' sighed. "Well, Jared was at Deerwater, your last institution. Now you're here, ten hours away from there. Had to be transferred for some reason, apparently."

"Ca-" Dean stopped himself. " _Misha_ , don't you think it's at least a _tiny_ bit weird that your 'crazy' voice knows me and I know him?"

Cas seemed to think about it, before shrugging. "Just a bit. Coincidence probably."

Dean couldn't take it anymore. He reached over and grabbed Cas's shoulders, looking at him desperately. "C'mon, Cas... I need you. You gotta fight it, okay? This... this thing, this Misha guy... whatever it is, push it out. You can do this."

Cas blinked, looking at him, and Dean saw the flash of recognition in his eyes, before it disappeared. Cas shook his head, grimacing. "Nope… Should I call Dr. Heyerdahl for you? He could help… despite being the creepiest guy I know."

Heyerdahl? Who was _Heyerdahl_ supposed to be?

Dean seized on the brief moment of _Cas_ , eyes widening hopefully. "That worked. Whatever you did, that _worked_ , Cas! C'mon, man, do it again! You can fight this!"

Cas stared at Dean, clearly terrified, conflict shining in his eyes. "N-no… No, I'm getting better… Cas isn't real, Jensen. You should _know_ that..."

Dean reached out to grip his friend's shoulders once more, smiling just slightly at the fact that Cas was finally remembering. If Cas could, so could Sam. And with them back, they could figure out this whole nightmare and put the world right again "Cas. My name is _Dean Winchester_. We're friends, remember?"

"Dean...?" Recognition glinted in Cas's eyes before he slammed them shut again, shaking his head determinedly. "Wait. No, ugh. Jensen.".

Dean cursed under his breath. He'd gotten _so close_."No-no-no, that was it. You had it…"

A strong hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing tightly, aggressively, _possessively._ "Are we having _problems_ , Mr. Ackles?"

Dean jumped at the all-too-familiar nasally drawl, turning around quickly as his eyes widened in horror. "N-No…" His face contorted in a snarl, anger winning out over fear. " _You_."

How long had it been since…? But no, no, it couldn't be; he was dead, he was _dead_ , he _was_ … "It's me. Have you taken your medication, Mr. Ackles? It doesn't look like it."

"Get the hell away from me!" He looked around frantically, trying to find some sort of weapon but only finding a packet of salt. He swore mentally, grabbing it and starting to rip it open, struggling to keep his hands steady.

The 'doctor' in front of him only rolled his eyes, pulling out a needle from his pocket "Time to sleep, hmm?"

Cas spoke up finally, not realizing the danger standing right in front of them. "Dr. Heyerdahl, I don't think sedating him is necessary. He's just scared… Hasn't made an appearance here before."

"No!" Dean shot Cas a quick glare. "Stay away from me! Get away!"

'Dr. Heyerdahl' grabbed Dean's arm, holding it still and brandishing the needle with his other hand. "Hmm… That wouldn't be very professional of me, now would it? After all, I'm your doctor."

 _Oh, shit…_ Dean's eyes widened in horror, freezing at the sight of the needle and that same sadistically twisted grin he'd hoped to never lay eyes on again.

Cas looked between the two of them nervously. " Um…"

The demon freak only grinned at him. "Don't worry now, Mr. Ackles. It won't… hurt." Then, Dean felt the sharp jab of pain in his arm as the needle went in, none too gently and a heavy, empty sensation started to spread throughout his body. He needed to fight, he needed to...

Dimly, from far away, he heard Cas's voice, not directed at him, brimming with well-controlled anger. "Was that really necessary?"

"N-no... Cas, run…" Dean was too out of it to get away himself, but Cas could still make it; Cas still had a chance… He felt his eyes starting to slide closed, his body going limp, slumping bonelessly on the table.

But all Cas did was reach over, putting a hand on his shoulder in a weak attempt to comfort him. "Hey, it's gonna be okay, man. It's gonna be okay."

"Cas, it's _him,_ " Dean whispered, struggling to get a few last words out before he forgot everything again. " _Alastair_."

And then he blacked out.

* * *

 **So… Things are getting a bit more intense. We hope you liked reading this chapter - we certainly enjoyed writing it. See you all next time! - Mimzy and Pixie**


	6. Everybody Knows That You Are Insane

**So last week's chapter was a little short, but good news - it looks like they're getting longer from here on out! Get ready for a crapload of angst in this one!**

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ **We do not own** _ **Supernatural**_ **.**

 _ **Warnings for this chapter**_ **: Self-loathing, invalidation of mental illness, just generally stuff you might not want to read if you're already in a bad headspace. And as per usual, language and the hospital-from-hell.**

* * *

" **Everybody Knows That You Are Insane" - Queens of the Stone Age**

* * *

"Hello, Mr. Ackles. Ready for another… session?"

Jensen opened his eyes slowly, wincing at the glare of the harsh fluorescent lights. He vaguely remembered eating lunch with Misha, the throbbing of his head growing more and more until it was unbearable, and then- _shit._ Dean.

Dr. Heyerdahl's voice could still be heard, droning on beside him. "Ah yes, do get adjusted to the lights first."

"Dr. Heyerdahl... " Jensen's voice slurred as he blinked a few times to clear the fuzzy feeling in his mind. "Did I... Did you drug me? Did Dean get control?"

He couldn't be completely sure, what with the drugs still pumping through his system, but he could've sworn the doctor actually chuckled, as if amused by his struggle to speak clearly. "Yes, he did have a bit of a… fit."

 _Fuck…_ Jensen closed his eyes, murmuring softly, "I was doing so well…"

Dr. Heyerdahl hummed quietly, seeming to think about something for a moment, before speaking. "Yes, I'm starting to think Mr. Collins is being a bad influence."

"Wait, _what?_ " Jensen opened his eyes at the statement, sitting up quickly. He grimaced. That action had been a mistake, as he was officially dizzy on top of having a killer headache. He clutched his head, taking a moment to steady himself.

"Your little incident confirmed it." Heyerdahl shook his head sadly, clucking his tongue. "'Cas' and 'Dean' know each other." Something in his eyes hardened, fixing on Jensen like a scientist examining a specimen. "Isn't that… interesting?"

Jensen swallowed, squirming under Heyerdahl's piercing gaze. "I... I don't know. Yeah. Yeah, I guess."

And then the stare was gone, the doctor glancing down at his clipboard to make a note. "So disappointing, really." Funny how Heyerdahl really didn't sound all that disappointed.

"But sir, Misha and I _both_ want to get better. We're supporting each other in this."

"Or making it worse?"

What? Worse, what was that supposed to mean?

Jensen shook his head quickly as he realized he was expected to respond. "No! Misha and I... I mean, we're friends. It's helping, I swear it is."

Dr. Heyerdahl simply arched an eyebrow. "We will see."

Jensen swallowed. He'd already lost so much to this place; he didn't think he could go through it alone. "Look, I'm already cooped up in here most of the day. It's so freaking dull I could tear my hair out! A friend is helping, really."

"Is he your friend, Mr. Ackles? Or does he just think of you as a burden?" Heyerdahl looked at him again, with that same near-mocking look in his eyes. "Just like you seem to have been to everyone else."

Jensen spoke after a few moments, cursing himself silently when his voice wavered. "I-I'm not a burden to him. He doesn't have to do anything for me. We just... just talk. That's it." The topic was closed, and he made sure that sentiment carried through clearly in his tone and posture.

And Dr. Heyerdahl pressed on anyway, a small smile on his face as he told Jensen all the facts he already knew. "Even talking can be burdensome to some. Do you really think 'Dean' was _helping_ when he was calling him 'Cas' over and over again? Do you think that helped cure his illness?"

He fought to hide his involuntary flinch at the doctor's cold assessment. "I... I didn't know I…" Forcing a calmness he didn't feel into his voice, he managed to get out a few sentences without tripping over his words. "I didn't mean to call him that. I know it'd just make things harder for him."

"You need to think about dedication, Mr. Ackles." Heyerdahl's voice was like ice, and it was obvious that he couldn't care less how much his words stung. "Are you truly motivated to get 'Dean' out of your broken mind, hmm? Or are you just letting him sit in the back of your head? Think of your family, Mr. Ackles. If you're going to be fixed, you have to put some effort into it. And sometimes that means making a few...sacrifices. Wouldn't want to be more of a burden to your wife, now would you? Or the others you interact with. A crazy man is not a very well-suited father, now is he?"

"I _am_ trying," Jensen tried to defend himself, but his voice had lost any real conviction - he was going through the motions of rejecting the truth to save his feelings. "I'm taking the meds; I'm talking with you; I'm fighting Dean back as much as I can! Keegan knows I'm trying. She knows I'm working at it. I'm not a good father right now, that's why I'm here. To get better. To get back."

" _Does_ she know though?" Damn it, it was like listening to all his secret self deprecating thoughts read out loud to him word for word, except in Heyerdahl's disgustingly scratchy, nasal voice. "She's still very young, Mr. Ackles. Only a few years old. All she comprehends is that while all the other kids at school have a normal daddy, she doesn't."

Jensen closed his eyes, hanging his head as he admitted what he'd never said aloud before. "I'm here for a reason, Dr. Heyerdahl. I know I have a problem, I know I'm not fit to be a father right now. That's why I'm here. But as soon as I'm better, I'm gonna make this right."

He had hoped that Heyerdahl would just call it quits and leave, but of course, the doctor was never willing to give Jensen a break. "You'll never be better as long as you're only putting in second-best. From what I've seen, Deerwater's doctors must have coddled you. Time to step up, Mr. Ackles. Act like a man about this."

Jensen's jaw clenched furiously as he spat out, "I'm doing everything you ask me to!"

Heyerdahl scoffed at the assertion. "But you're not doing it well enough. Don't be such a burden, Mr. Ackles. Don't complain about my attempts to… motivate you to do better."

"Look, I don't know _how_ to do this better! I'm sitting in my room all day; I'm taking the pills. What else _can_ I do?" He didn't understand how he could be such a burden to everyone when he was only around other living beings for a few hours each day, especially when that time period was split into segments.

"Perhaps not whine, for one?"

It took everything Jensen had to grit his teeth, shut his mouth, and nod quietly.

"That's better."

Jensen'd never actually punched someone across the face before. He wondered not-so-idly how badly it would bruise his knuckles.

"Are we having _problems_?"

"No, sir." The answer was almost painful as he forced it past his lips.

"Let's all do our best to keep it that way, hmm...?" Heyerdahl smirked. "Temper tantrums never help anyone."

Jensen took a deep breath, reminding himself that strangling someone wasn't going to help him convince anyone he was getting better. " I know. I'm not a _child._ "

"Then don't _act_ like one." Dr. Heyerdahl grinned just slightly. "Surely that can't be too hard."

"Goddamn sonofabitch…" Jensen muttered under his breath, curling his fingers into fists.

Heyerdahl chuckled, clucking his tongue. "Temper, temper…"

Jensen couldn't hold back the glare aimed at the doctor, hissing out through clenched teeth, "Not. Five."

"So you say." The doctor's grin only widened, as if Jensen was a particularly entertaining spectacle.

"Are you _trying_ to piss me off?!" Because he'd never heard of a doctor who'd wanted that before, but then again, he'd never heard of a hospital this much like a prison before, either.

Dr. Heyerdahl plastered a look of feigned hurt and innocence onto his angular features. "Now, why would I do that?"

Jensen let out a shaky breath, "I don't know, but it sure as hell seems like you are."

"Don't be so immature," Heyerdahl chided. "I'm only trying to help, Mr. Ackles."

"Fine. Get to it. Dean's still kicking." He was so done with this.

Heyerdahl scoffed. "And just what do you think I've been doing, hmm? I'm fixing the problem, Mr. Ackles. And the problem is you."

He snapped despite his best efforts to remain calm. "Well, tell me what I'm doing wrong and I'll fix it, then!"

"Your attitude! Your attitude is wrong, Mr. Ackles."

Jensen sucked in a fast breath, hands clenching into fists in the thin white sheets of the hospital bed. "My attitude is that I want to get better. Whatever it takes." And that much was true, not a snarky retort. He couldn't wait to get out of this hellhole and back to his real life.

Dr. Heyerdahl shook his head mournfully, circling the room to stand on Jensen's other side. "And yet you don't respect me. You don't listen to me. I can talk all I want, Mr. Ackles, but it'll only help if you actually listen."

He wisely refrained from making a smart remark, biting the words back and swallowing his pride as he answered."Of course I respect you. And I'm listening, you just aren't giving me anything to work with!"

Heyerdahl tutted. "Oh, I am, Mr. Ackles. Perhaps you need to calm that _hothead_ of yours down a bit. Always hard to concentrate while in the middle of a tantrum…"

"Oh my god…" Jensen murmured, almost disbelievingly. Why had they even hired this guy? There was no way Heyerdahl was seriously licensed to practice psychotherapy. He was practically a nutjob himself. The older man grinned in mild amusement, as if sensing his thoughts, and Jensen shook his head. "Look. Just get away from me. You're doing this on purpose, I know it."

The doctor's grin grew, like he was laughing at some inside joke just beyond Jensen's grasp, and it was honestly infuriating. "Like I said before, why would I do that? I'm your doctor. Not your... _tormenter_ or anything."

Jensen let out a long sigh. There was no use arguing the point any more when he knew he would get no further. And besides, maybe the glint of cruelty that shone in Heyerdahl's eyes was just a figment of his imagination, left over from 'Dean's' obvious paranoia. "Okay, I'm listening. What do you want me to do?"

"Focus more, Jensen," Heyerdahl instructed. "Avoid bad influences in your life. If something has any brief connection to 'Dean, I'd suggest getting away from it as fast as possible. Isn't that why you're here? Got a bit too _close_ to one of the nurses back at Deerwater? Connections to your alternate personality must be cut, Mr. Ackles."

"…You mean Misha." No, this couldn't be happening. Heyerdahl couldn't seriously want him to cut his last lifeline, his last link to relative normalcy. He couldn't do it.

Heyerdahl hummed, considering, before shrugging slightly. " _Perhaps_. Haven't quite decided yet. I'll give it a few more days. If nothing has changed… Then yes. I mean Misha."

Jensen frowned. "What do you mean, 'if nothing changes?' What should we change?"

"I meant if your status with Dean hasn't seemed to have improved. I'll be watching." Why did the thought of his doctor watching him carefully make him even more uncomfortable, rather than safer? Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was starting to think Heyerdahl was some sort of sadist.

He was suddenly struck with indignation as a thought occurred to him. "But... but that was my first lapse in over a week! I thought that would be pretty great!"

Dr. Heyerdahl chuckled proudly. "Oh, I would say so, considering 'Dean' was popping up every other day at Deerwater! Look at the improvement. Look how I've _helped_ you. Hmm?"

Jensen hesitantly offered a small smile. The doctor seemed more proud of his own work than he was with Jensen, who'd been the one actually holding 'Dean' back. _Jared would have been so psyched for me…_ He pushed the thought away. He wasn't being a burden on Jared anymore; that was what mattered. "Yeah. You really have."

Heyerdahl nodded. "Exactly. I'm helping you be less of a burden. Which is why you need to… _trust_ me, hm?"

Jensen nodded, trying to hide the way he stiffened at the word 'burden.' Sometimes it was really like the doctor could read his mind. "All right. I trust you, Dr. Heyerdahl."

The older man grinned, clearly pleased. "Good."

"How long do I have to get Dean under control?"

"Two days." Heyerdahl started walking towards the door. "After that, we'll try seating you and Misha at different tables."

Jensen nodded. "Two days. Okay. Okay, I can do that."

Heyerdahl smirked slightly before walking out and locking the door behind him. The deadbolt slid home with its usual thunk, and if Jensen let out a few tears of frustration and helplessness… Well, there was no one there to see.

* * *

Time passed real slowly when one was locked alone in a cell, Jensen discovered. It hurt too much to hobble around on his crutches, so he spent most of his time sprawled on his cot, staring up at the ceiling. He'd counted the thirty nine tiles more times than he cared to remember. Hell, he'd kill for a book right now… something, anything to occupy his time. So it almost came as a relief when he heard the thud of the heavy lock being undone and the squeaking hinges of the door.

Jensen looked up grudgingly, fully expecting to see Dr. Heyerdahl's all-too-familiar leer, but froze as he took in the form of a woman silhouetted against the doorway.

His eyes widened in surprise, and if he was honest with himself, a little apprehension.. "... _Camari?_ What're you doing here?"

Camari let out a sigh, perching almost reluctantly on the chair across from his bed, legs crossed at the ankles and arms pulled into her stomach nervously. "Well, I decided it was time for a visit...We need to talk."

"Wh-where's Keegan?" Jensen cursed mentally at the slight stutter, but the visit had been completely unexpected. He pushed himself up so that they were at even eye level - might as well try to retain some of his dignity.

"With her grandparents for the weekend. I thought it was better that way." Camari paused, before adding, "For her, at least."

Jensen swallowed, finally touching on the elephant in the room that they'd both been avoiding. "Look, Camari, I'm working on this. I swear to God, I am."

Camari's expression became bitter, the set of her shoulders and posture changing as if she were steeling herself. "It's not doing anything, is it though? They had to switch you to another hospital because you were clinging to one of the nurses so much that it was becoming a problem, Jensen!"

And yeah, he knew it had been coming, but damn, it was still like a slap to the face to hear the words from his wife's mouth. Weakly, he protested, knowing it wouldn't do much good - they'd been having this argument for months now. "But I'm doing better here, Camari! I've been lucid almost the whole time, Dean's just shown up _once_ in the last... week and a half!"

She glanced at the floor, and for a few moments he thought that maybe they had a chance; that she didn't actually want to leave him and that he could convince her to stay. But then in the next moment he knew he had imagined it, and he looked away."I'm sorry, Jensen… I-I just can't do this anymore." She looked up again, her expression turning cold once more. "It's been six months."

"Camari…" His voice broke on the name, but he didn't even care. "I swear, this is almost done. It's almost over, honey, then we can go back to the way it was. We can be _people_ again."

"I love you, Jensen, but I can't." She shook her head. "I can't keep waiting to actually hear some good news for once…"

Jensen shook his head as well. She didn't understand that he really was getting better, slowly but surely. "There has been good news, Camari! This place... This place might not be the nicest, but it's helping; it really is. Dr. Heyerdahl's been helping me, and they think they finally have my meds right." Things had been looking up for once, all things considered. He needed his wife to see that.

"It's… It's too much for me, Jensen. Too much for Keegan. I can't do this! Not with this distance between us! Maybe a few months ago, but now…?" She shook her head, casting her gaze desperately around the room, looking anywhere but at Jensen's eyes, searching for a way out, or at least a way to explain. "Do you even know what it was like for us when we got the call from some 'Jared' telling me that you had to be transferred?! That things weren't working out for you there?!"

Jensen closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He could only imagine how that phone call had gone down. "...Camari, look. I'm sorry, but this is helping. I'm getting better."

She wasn't buying it. "Call me once you're out for good. Depending on what all has happened, maybe we'll talk about it then. But for right now… We're done, Jensen. I can't do this. Keegan can't do this. She can't even make friends at school because of this, Jensen!"

"Camari." Jensen was out of options here, and so he did the only thing he still had in his power - he looked his wife in the eye and outright _begged_. "Please... _Please_ , don't do this to me." A tear trailed its track down his stubbled cheek and the last of his dignity dissipated like wet crepe paper. God, he had known this was coming - known it ever since he'd first been admitted, really - so why was his chest so tight and his breath so short? Why wasn't it stopping?

His wife - no, his _ex-wife_ almost looked as broken as he felt. "It's too late, Jensen. I won't change my mind. Not now."

"Please... Just let me see Keegan again." He forced his unwilling body to hold his wife's gaze. "She's my _daughter._ "

There was a sigh… and then a nod. "I'll let you see her one more time. In two weeks, okay? Then...We're through, Jensen." The words were soft, not even angry, just sad, but they still fell like a hot branding iron that burned and burned and didn't stop.

Jensen couldn't stop himself from shaking a little, his eyes pleading for understanding; for forgiveness and for _just a little more time_. "I'm still me, Camari. I'm still Jensen. I'm still the man you fell in love with; the man you married."

And the woman he'd married looked right at him… and then looked away. "And you're also a man named 'Dean' who flirts with other women at bars, and thinks some random psych nurse is his brother."

That's when Jensen realized that to her; to his beautiful Camari… he _wasn't_ the man she'd married. He wasn't a successful actor, and he wasn't charming or handsome. He was a pathetic wash-up locked in a secure ward in day-old hospital scrubs begging for time with tears in his eyes.

Jensen shook his head rapidly. "No! That man _doesn't exist_! I know he doesn't. He's _going away._ "

Camari still wasn't convinced. "But he's not gone, Jensen! He's not _gone._ "

"He will be. Soon, Camari, I swear to God." His voice wavered, and he fought to keep from bursting into tears and looking even weaker than he already did. _Just a little longer, that's all he had to do, was hold on a little longer._

Camari just sighed. "It's over, Jensen."

Jensen's voice broke again at his utter helplessness, and he swallowed down a quiet sob. "Camari… I'm doing everything I can."

"It's not _enough._ " Her tone softened just slightly. "I'm sorry, Jensen, but this is it. One last goodbye with Keegan, and then we're through."

He couldn't see this. He couldn't bear to see this.

Jensen closed his eyes, shoulders shaking as silent tears ran down his face and way too many memories came flying at him. College, meeting Camari at the library - she'd helped him with that stupid required bio course. The campout they'd had soon after that, out hiking in the state park. Sharing the excitement of landing their first acting jobs in Hollywood. Asking her to marry him… god, _getting married._ The look on her face when she'd told him she was pregnant… And then being a father. The happiest years of his life flew by in such a painful blur that he was only jerked out of it by the harsh scrape of a chair against the linoleum floor as the woman who'd brought so much joy into his life prepared to walk out of it.

"Camari, wait." Was that really his voice? Dimly, he noted that he didn't know it could sound so broken.

"What, Jensen?" So this was really all their relationship had boiled down to. Clipped words, and a few feet that may as well have been a few miles between them.

"Please... we can work this out. It shouldn't be too much longer I'm here, and then-" Even as he spoke the words, he knew they were no good. Camari sighed and shook her head sadly before turning away and walking out of the room, shutting the door gently behind her.

As the door swung closed again, Jensen closed his eyes, hating the small part of him that wished Jared was there to sit next to him on the bed, make him laugh weakly and maybe even crack a joke. He didn't want some stupid nurse who was paid to be his friend. He wanted his life back. More specifically, he wanted his family back. And now any chance of that was gone for good.

He laid down on his bed again, staring up at the stark white ceiling that somehow hadn't changed at all even though the world had just ended. Somehow, despite the fact that he'd been on the verge of a breakdown for practically the last hour, any urge to cry was just gone, replaced by a painful emptiness in his gut. He counted the tiles - still thirty nine - and wondered why he'd ever wished for a change in his boredom at all.

* * *

Jared was having a _really_ crummy day. Scott had thrown a temper tantrum this morning about wanting _strawberry_ jelly, not _grape_ \- apparently grape jelly was for kindergarteners now. Who knew? And then after that, he'd had to come in for a double shift today, and so far not one of his sessions with any of the patients had gone as planned. And then there was also his growing worry about Je- no. No, he wasn't going to go there. He had his own problems, and Mr. Ackles was perfectly fine. The state institution was a good place.

He gave the janitor - whose last name he was pretty sure was Pellegrino - a small smile and a wave as he passed, headed for the nurses' station. He had to write up a report on his last session before-

Blinding pain shot through his head, causing small white flashes to go off in the corners of his vision. Dimly, he recognized that his clipboard had clattered to the ground, and that he was bracing heavily against the wall. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the pain and nausea to die down as he focused on taking deep breaths. In, out… In, out… Slowly, the headache became more bearable, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

A concerned hand landed on his shoulder. "Jared? Are you alright?"

"Huh?" Jared blinked, the face of the janitor swimming into focus after a second. "Y-Yeah…" Was he? He dismissed the thought, massaging his temples. "Just real bad headache."

"I have some Advil if you want…" Pellegrino offered, before tacking on the oh-so-helpful additional comment of, "You look terrible."

Jared winced again, nodding gratefully as he took the pills the slightly older man offered and swallowed them dry. "Thanks, man… ow."

Pellegrino frowned, tilting his head to the side as he leaned on his mop. "When was the last time you slept a full night?"

Jared thought about it. He'd started having strange dreams a while back, and they'd started to really get in the way of sleeping. "Full night's rest? Probably about a week ago…" He shrugged, giving the guy a small smile. "But hey, not a big deal, really." He had a job to do, and he wasn't one to start complaining about his own problems when he looked at them compared to the patients he worked with every day.

The other man shrugged. "Guess it's not my business... but how often are you having these headaches?"

He frowned at the strange question, but answered anyway. "Once or twice a day. Seems to be getting worse, but, you know. Life goes on, huh?"

He was sure he saw the ghost of a satisfied smile flick across Pellegrino's face before it disappeared as quickly as it came. Maybe the sleep he was missing was catching up to him after all. Maybe his stress levels were so high he was actually imagining things. Jared grimaced at the thought, and made a mental note to take a long nap that afternoon.

Pellegrino gave him a sympathetic look. "That sucks, man. You sure you're okay?"

"Oh, yeah. Definitely." Jared grinned, hoping the slightly forced look was lost on the janitor. "Just been a rough week, y'know? Got a different schedule now that Jens- Now that Mr. Ackles got transferred to the state institution."

"Yeah, you had his case for... how long?" Pellegrino shook his head, scowling a bit. "Leave it to that idiot Sheppard to go and screw it all up."

Jared frowned at the unnatural venom in the other man's voice. Was he missing something? Why would the janitor be so ticked at the nursing director? "Hey, Dr. Sheppard was just doing his job. It's not like I can blame him or anything."

Pellegrino shrugged, whatever anger that had been his voice and expression now gone. Jared guessed he _was_ imagining things. _Great_. "Of course, of course... I'd just think I'd be a _little_ upset if I were you. He knew you and Jensen were friendly. Maybe you could have even helped pull him through, if he'd stayed."

"Not supposed to befriend the patients…" Jared mumbled, a flush of color creeping up over his cheeks. Had it really been that obvious that he'd let his professional mask slip?

The janitor rolled his eyes, scoffing. "Who cares what you're 'supposed' to do, if it helps?"

But had it been helping to have a friend? Or did 'Sam's' presence just make it worse? As much as he'd like to think he'd helped his patient, maybe he'd just been holding him back… Jared sighed. "Too late now. I'm sure Mr. Ackles is doing just fine where he is."

Pellegrino looked at him strangely. "Have you talked to him at all? Since he was transferred?"

Jared shook his head, shrugging a bit. "No, but… Y'know. Not like I have the time or money to visit. Dr. Sheppard was right. He thought I was his brother. Me being around him was a bad idea; was probably making him worse."

"Or maybe it was helping," the janitor suggested, voicing one of the thoughts Jared'd been trying to deny was bouncing around in his own head already. "At least the brother was a positive figure. What if at the state institution he makes someone into some sort of enemy?" But then a smile was on the other man's face again, and damn, if that was supposed to be reassuring, Jared knew why Pellegrino'd been hired as a janitor and not a nurse. "Y'know, you're right. I'm sure he's fine."

Jared swallowed, glancing down. "Yeah, of course… Even thinking Dr. Sheppard was some monster named Crowley, he was never that bad."

The janitor flashed the same weird smile again. "Is your head feeling any better?"

"Yeah," Jared lied easily, smiling back just slightly. "A lot better, thanks for the Advil."

"Oh, no trouble," Pellegrino chuckled, walking away with a small wave. "No trouble at all."

* * *

 **Well, this chapter was... fun. For us, anyway. I'm not so sure the characters would agree.**

 **Also, we really appreciate all the reviews we've gotten so far! We know there are a lot of you reading this regularly by now, and we'd like to know what all of you think, especially the ones who haven't given us any feedback so far. Each message really means a lot to us. Thanks for reading! - Mimzy and Pixie**


	7. Wish You Were Here

**Hola!**

 **You guys had better get ready for this chapter, 'cause this is where things really start to heat up and the fic takes a bit of a darker turn.**

 _ **Disclaimer**_ **: We own nothing but our evil imaginations.**

 _ **Warnings for this chapter**_ **: Flashbacks to Hell - obviously including gore and violence, it's** _ **Hell**_ **, invalidation of mental illnesses (for story purposes, not as either of the authors' beliefs), and some additional minor violence towards the end of the chapter. And of course, language, although if you haven't come to expect that by now…**

 **Anyway, please enjoy!**

* * *

" **Wish You Were Here" -Pink Floyd**

* * *

Somehow, the cafeteria was the same the next day, even after everything that'd happened. Same bland beige walls and plastic wacko-proof utensils, same chairs and tables bolted to the floor, and the same 'food' that couldn't technically be _proved_ to be a sentient life-form.

Misha sat down next to him at the table, setting his tray down with the same goofy grin he always seemed to wear. "Hey, Jensen!"

Jensen forced a small smile, looking up at his friend. He really wasn't in the mood for optimism today. "Hey, Misha…"

The other man seemed to get the hint, his face quickly sobering up. "How's it going? Um… So I know this is going to sound nuts, but, um… I've been thinking."

Jensen took a deep breath, forcing out the words he'd been practicing all day now. "Yeah. Yeah, so have I." He tried his best, but dammit, he just couldn't find it in him to look his friend in the eye. "Misha, maybe you and I... I mean, it's not good for you to have me around; it triggers 'Cas.' And... And vice versa."

Misha shook his head, eyes glinting excitedly. "Unless… Unless Cas is the real thing." Jensen started to cut him off, but he just continued over the protests. "No, no, no, hear me out, okay? What if...What if the reason yours and my personalities know each other is because they're _real?_ What if _we're_ the ones who're fake?"

He seriously couldn't believe he was having this conversation right now. _Right_ after Heyerdahl's warning, too. Maybe as douchey as he was, the guy had a point. He tried to speak, but all he could get out for a long time was a soft, "Oh, god…" He pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting off his pounding headache before he found the words he needed. "Misha... dude... this is what I'm talking about, okay?"

Misha kept going, rambling and spewing more nonsense. "But think about it! It makes sense. ...If you look at it right."

Jensen shook his head rapidly, halfway hoping that Misha was just playing some sort of prank on him. A really, really not funny one. "No. No, no no no, how the _hell_ does that make _any_ sense?!"

"I knew you before you even said anything," Misha stated, and Jensen could see the sincerity in his eyes. "Come on, Jensen. Multiple personalities don't just know other people's multiple personalities by coincidence."

Jensen scoffed bitterly. "Oh, it's _not_ coincidence. We're _crazy_ , Misha."

"But what if we're _not?_ "

"Then we wouldn't be locked in a goddamn _looney bin_!" He slammed his tray down on the table angrily, not caring that he'd caught the attention of most of the other patients with the unexpected loud noise.

Misha leaned in close, blue eyes wide as he lowered his voice conspiratorially. "But what if they only _want_ us to think we're crazy? What if that's why we can't remember all of it?" The man sitting across the table was hunched over, with tousled, greasy dark hair and dark bags under his eyes, and for the first time since Jensen had met him, Misha really looked _crazy_.

"Misha I am _trying_ to get better, okay? I am _trying_ to get outta here and go have a life." Jensen couldn't help but glare at his friend, spitting the next barb through gritted teeth, "Are _you_?"

"Yeah. Dean… But not the way you are." Misha shook his head, looking off into the distance as if trying to conjure up more memories. "I've… Cas has been remembering more and more. I'm telling you. What if Sam - that 'Jared' you were talking about - actually _is_ your brother? Huh? What if he just doesn't remember it?"

Pain flashed in his temple, blinding him for a second, and he clenched his fists, the sting of his nails digging into his palms grounding him a little. "J-Jared is a _nurse_. At Deerwater. He's not my goddamn brother. So shut the hell up. Are you _trying_ to make me relapse?!"

"What if it's not a relapse though? What if it's real?" The other patient shook his head. "Jensen… I've been having dreams, okay? Of Cas and Dean and…" His eyes lit up. "I can tell you what Jared looks like. And I've never met him, you know that. But I know what he looks like. Really tall, fairly long brown hair… Am I right?"

Right. He was right. How the hell was he right? But Jensen gritted his teeth and pushed the thoughts away. "I could've told you that. Any time. I don't remember. Or 'Dean' mighta told you or 'Cas.' Maybe you remembered something I told you when one of us didn't realize. But Misha, c'mon. You have to realize how crazy you sound right now." He forced himself to look his friend in the eye, desperately trying to bring him back to reality.

Misha sighed. "Yeah, yeah, I know… But at the same time...What if they're not dreams, Jensen? What if they're memories? Dean thought Dr. Heyerdahl was some sort of… I dunno, monster or something. What if he _is_?"

Jensen scoffed, rolling his eyes. "'Dean' doesn't get a vote. Considering he's not real."

"What if he _is_ though?" God, he was so sick of hearing that. Anything he said could be apparently countered with 'but what if it _is?_ ' and it was getting old. "C'mon, don't you get the headaches from time to time?"

His eyes went wide as another surge of pain chose that moment to rip through his temples. How the hell did Misha know…? "Y-Yeah... Dr. Heyerdahl says they're side effects from the meds."

"What if they're _not?_ "

Jensen let out a long, exasperated sigh. "Okay. _Pretend for a moment you're right_. Why kidnap us? What's the motive?" Seriously, none of this made any sense. He couldn't help but wonder if Misha had taken his medication when he was supposed to have...

Misha frowned, considering for a moment. "Well… Um… Think about it. What does Dean think he is? Some sort of hunter, yeah? Goes after demons?"

This was ridiculous. Was he seriously going to play along with this crazy idea? "Yup. That's him."

"Yeah well, what if they're demons? Must not like you."

"Then why am I still _breathing?_ "

Misha fumbled for a minute. "Maybe they need you for something."

Jensen couldn't keep this up anymore. "Misha. _Listen_ to yourself, _okay_?" The man wasn't dumb, if he just took a second to think about it, he'd realize… He was almost sure Misha hadn't taken his meds that day, though Jensen couldn't really judge him for it when his own alternate personality had pulled the same trick before.

"Look, I know it sounds bad, but…" Misha sighed. "Jensen, it just feels _right._ Righter than anything else has for a _long_ time."

"Mish... dude, please don't make me do this." Jensen was begging now, he was literally begging, but he didn't care - he _couldn't_ go through this alone.

"Do what? Jensen, just hear me out, okay? I… I think we've both just forgotten. Cas and Dean may be the real ones... What if we're the fakes?" And his friend was looking at him so intently that something broke inside him.

"I've gotta get better, Misha. Whatever it takes. And right now…" He had to say it. "...you aren't doing much to help with that."

Misha shook the commen off easily, not missing a beat. "What if 'better' is actually remembering that you're Dean? What if the meds are only suppressing real memories?"

"We aren't the fakes, okay? Cas and Dean aren't real. Demons, monsters, crazy plots... how on _earth_ does that sound logical?"

For the first time, a hint of doubt crept into Misha's wild, bright eyes. "I… I dunno, man, but… Come on… It could be real. Please, Jensen… I need you to believe me." He met Jensen's gaze, with a look of his own, just as pleading. "You're the only one I've got here. The only one who might _possibly_ take me seriously."

This was bad. This was really bad. Worse than Jensen knew how to handle. A thick knot started to form in his stomach. "Misha, if you keep talking like this I'm gonna call Dr. Heyerdahl, dude. I really don't wanna, but I want what's best for you."

Misha looked at him, hurt written plainly all over his face, blinking once. "He'd sedate me. You'd know that. He'd make me shut up, one way or another… You'd tell on me just because I was discussing a theory?"

Jensen couldn't help but flinch at the betrayed look Misha had given him, casting his eyes down to his tray again. "I want us both to get better. To get outta here. This 'theory...' It's crazy, even you gotta see that. And talking about it isn't helping either of us."

Misha swallowed, chastised and humiliated. "Please, Jensen… I-I need you to at least listen to me. No one does. Even when I'm not spouting off some crazy 'theory.'No one ever listens to me, Jensen. Just because I'm in this stupid place." He looked up again. "Please…"

Jensen blinked hard, trying to keep tears out of his eyes at his friend's sudden backslide. So this was what it felt like for his family and friends to watch him throw his life away… He thought he might puke. It was harder than he could have ever imagined. "I-I'm listening, Misha, you're just... you're not making any sense. I'm worried about you; you're scaring me. Look, if 'Dean' doesn't start going away more, Heyerdahl's gonna separate us, okay? This is like, down to the wire now."

Misha looked down again, his own eyes glistening and his face red with the all-too-familiar flush of shame Jensen had so often felt on his own cheeks. "I get it… I mean, I'm lucky you even want to be around me. Not many people want to befriend a nutcase, even if they're one themselves…"

Oh, come on… Jensen rubbed a hand over his face. "It's not like that. It's just... Don't you wanna get outta here?"

"I also wanna know the _truth,_ Jensen." Misha shrugged slightly, seemingly resigned. "And right now Cas and Dean… They sound like it."

Jensen shook his head disbelievingly. "How? How the _hell_ does that sound more like the truth? That we've been captured and brainwashed by... by _demons_? Doesn't it make more sense that we're two sad nutjobs?"

"I don't _feel_ crazy, Jensen." And damn it all at that argument, because Jensen had nothing to counter it, heaven knows he'd used it enough himself.

Jensen swallowed, telling him earnestly, "And you aren't. You just have a problem."

And then Misha freaking _sniffled_ , and Jensen swore mentally, cursing his inability to deal with with things like this. He officially had no idea how to handle this situation.

"Oh, god… Um…" He reached over, patting Misha awkwardly on the shoulder a few times and trying not to grimace. Grimacing would probably just make things worse right now.

"Not a kid, Jensen…" Misha jerked away from the touch, quickly wiping the moisture from his eyes and staring down at his still-untouched tray.

Jensen pulled his hand back quickly, empty space suddenly stretching miles wide between them. "I know. I know, I'm sorry. You're a grown man, and I didn't mean it like that. I'm just... I'm not so great at y'know... emotions. That sorta stuff." He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, hoping Misha would understand. Jeez, Jensen of all people would never patronize someone for their delusions. He had enough of that himself with Heyerdahl.

When his friend's only response was a tired shrug, Jensen sighed. "God, I screw _everything_ up, don't I?" he muttered, mostly to himself.

"No, you don't…" Misha answered him anyway, either not noticing or not caring that the question didn't really ask for an answer. He shook his head and buried his face in his hands, causing his voice to come out slightly muffled. "Shouldn't have said anything. 'M sorry."

Sympathy spiked in Jensen, and he softened his tone even farther. "Hey, it's okay. We all have bad days. Things'll be clearer tomorrow, swear it. We aren't gonna get you sedated, and here-" He shoved his tray across the checkered table, trying to smile. "You can have my pudding. I think it's alive anyhow."

Misha looked up slowly, raising an eyebrow, and for a second, Jensen's stomach clenched at the thought that his friend was about to really let him have it. But then the goofy grin was back as if it had never left, and the world was right again."You think psycho pudding is going to make me feel better?" He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "I'm crazy. Not _that_ crazy."

Jensen let out a small, relieved laugh, a real smile breaking out across his face. "Y' never know. I mean, it's pudding, right? How bad can pudding be?"

"I thought the same thing about the jello a few months back… Ugh…" Misha shook his head rapidly, his expression clearly showing that he had made a horrible mistake.

 _Hospital jello_. Jensen let out a shudder at the thought. "Oh, god." He glanced over at Misha, needing to be sure. "So... are we cool?"

"Yeah, we're cool…" Misha gave him a playful grin, adding, " _Mishamigo_."

Jensen groaned. "Mishamigo? Seriously, dude?" He rolled his eyes, elbowing Misha teasingly in the ribs. He thought about it for a moment, then his grin spread wickedly. "Actually, y'know what? I will literally _pay_ you to call Heyerdahl your 'Mishamigo.'" He considered - he was pretty much broke in here - then rephrased. "Like a nickel or something, but still."

Misha frowned, grimacing. "Ooh… Ouch. Not sure if I can take that bet…" Jensen opened his mouth, fully prepared to make squawking chicken noises, and the other man let out a sharp laugh, cutting him off. "Fine. I'll do it next time I see him."

Jensen's grin widened as he pumped his fist in victory. "I wanna see the dude's face. You think he'll pop a blood vessel?" Now _that_ would be a sight for sore eyes...

Misha considered it for a moment. "I think he might sedate me."

Jensen just shrugged, snickering as he shot a glance over at the grizzled old doctor, who was watching from his usual corner. "He'd probably do that anyway; the trigger-happy old coot."

"Eh, gotta point," Misha snorted. "I'll totally do it. Maybe he'll sedate you too. Just for the fun of it. We'll be, ah, Sedative Buddies."

"Bonding time, huh?" He stuck out his fist for Misha to bump - and the other man obliged enthusiastically. "Besides, what is there to miss around this place?" One thing about prison hospitals - they taught you how to appreciate what you could get.

Misha nodded in agreement. "Nothing like an argument and psycho pudding to strengthen a friendship…" He looked at him. "Seriously, I wouldn't eat that if I were you. I'd rather wear a _wormstache_ than eat it."

Jensen raised both eyebrows. "A _wormstache_." He stood up, dumping out his tray in a nearby trashcan. "Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not," Misha admitted, shrugging.

Jensen laughed. "Then I won't ask. See you tomorrow for breakfast, dude."

Misha nodded, waving slightly. "Yeah, see you."

Jensen hobbled his way out of the cafeteria, lost in his own thoughts. He may have entered it with the intentions of telling Misha that it wasn't the best idea for them to continue sitting together, but after this… Jensen had a feeling that Misha needed a friend more than anything else at the moment, and frankly, he could use one himself too.

* * *

Jared had found the guts to get down on one knee and propose to the love of his life. He'd somehow managed to make it through the first six years of fatherhood. And he dealt with _Sheppard_ as a boss on a daily basis. So after all that, he should totally have the will to be able to pick up a goddamn phone and make a stupid call. He didn't even know why he was getting so nervous in the first place.

With slightly shaking hands, he picked the phone from its charging cradle and punched in the number he'd managed to memorize without even realizing it, just from repeating the digits over and over in his mind. After a few moments, someone picked up, answering with a slightly raspy, nasal voice that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. " _Kansas State Psychiatric Hospital; Dr. Heyerdahl speaking_."

"Hello, this is Jared Padalecki. I was wondering if I could speak to one of your patients. He used to attend Deerwater Institution, where I work. I was hoping to see how he was getting along." He released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, proud of how steady his voice was.

The man on the other end of the line - Dr. Heyerdahl - let out a long sigh. " _Which patient, Mr. Padalecki? It isn't really our policy_ …"

Jared grimaced a bit. He should've been expecting that, after all, _he_ would never give out a patient's confidential information to a stranger over the phone. "I know. I apologize for the inconvenience. I'm assuming you have a Jensen Ackles at your facility currently?"

There was a pause, and then - " _Yes... yes, Mr. Ackles is one of our patients here. But I'm afraid he isn't available right now. There was... an slight_ incident _and we had to sedate him_."

"Sedate him? I see…" That hadn't exactly been what he'd hoped to hear. "What was the incident? If you don't mind saying…" Jared trailed off, _of course_ the doctor would mind, _stupid_.

" _Oh, it's not really the institute's policy to discuss this sort of thing over the phone. For the privacy and protection of our patients, you understand_." There was another pause, and Jared could've sworn the other man chuckled quietly. " _He's received appropriate medical care, I assure you_."

Jared frowned, chewing on the inside of his lip. "...Does this happen often? I know you can't give out details, but… These incidents… Has he been getting into trouble often?"

Another long sigh. " _Mr. Ackles is having... a difficult time adjusting to this facility. We're doing all we can for him right now. It's really just a matter of him taking his recovery into his own hands and trying to fight the split personality_."

Jared paused, taking a second to process the information. It was normal, setbacks happened, and no one said recovery was an easy road. "I… I was concerned that might happen. Er...Thank you for letting me know. He's not doing well then?"

" _Oh, I'm sure we'll get through to him, Mr. Padalecki,_ " the doctor assured him. " _As soon as the new medications begin to take effect he should be much more… docile."_

"'Docile?'" Somehow, something about that word didn't sit right with Jared, like it left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he shook the vague feeling off. "I-I suppose that's a good thing. Thank you, Dr. Heyerdahl. I realize this phone call may have violated your policy a bit."

The man on the other line seemed to pick up on his distress, rephrasing quickly. " _Perhaps I used the wrong word. The split personality has the potential to become… violent._ " Dr. Heyerdahl delivered the information nonchalantly, but Jared's eyes widened further the more he listened. " _He's convinced he knows one of the other patients; that they know each other in his fantasy world. Once he's able to stay calm for extended periods of time, we can begin to work on his psychosis_."

"Dean-" He coughed slightly, correcting himself. "Mr. Ackles's split personality thinks he knows one of the other patients?" He sucked in a deep breath. This was exactly why they'd sent Jensen away in the first place, dammit, and it wasn't even helping! "I'm sorry to hear that. Thank you for informing me of his condition."

" _Yes, it's_ incredibly _sad._ " The sympathy was practically oozing from the doctor's voice through the phone, but there was still something… off about it, sickly-sweet and cloying like eating a spoonful of raw molasses. " _We have to keep him on room lock, to keep him from hurting the staff or other patients. Tell me, since you worked with him before, did 'Dean' think he knew anyone at your facility?_ "

"Room lock?" Jared repeated dumbly before shaking himself out of it enough to answer the question. "Erm, yes. 'Dean' did believe he knew multiple people here."

Dr. Heyerdahl sighed, again picking up on Jared's unease. " _Room lock's just a policy of ours,_ " he explained. " _Only until we have the medication stabilized. It's so we don't need to have him sedated or in restraints 24/7_."

Jared frowned, but nodded anyway, despite the fact that the doctor couldn't see him. How bad could Jensen have gotten in a few short weeks? "I understand."

" _Don't worry, Mr. Padalecki,_ " Heyerdahl assured him, " _Mr. Ackles is progressing nicely. We've begun to allow him to eat meals in the general cafeteria again._ "

Jared nodded again, trying to ignore the tightness that was starting to grow behind his eyes. "Well, I'm glad to hear that."

" _Have a wonderful day, Mr. Padalecki. I'll have Mr. Ackles call you when he feels up to it, shall I?_ "

"I'd appreciate that; thank you." The back and forth was stiff as a board, and Jared contemplated throwing the receiver across the room.

" _No trouble at all, Mr. Padalecki,"_ the nasally man assured him, and before he could say anything else - _click!_ \- and the line was dead.

Jared sighed, resting the phone in its cradle again, and rubbed his temples in a vain attempt to ease the pain that seemed determined to make a permanent home there. Ten a.m. and already time for Advil. Great. He stood with a long-suffering sigh. Headache or not, 'Dean' or not, he was a nurse. He had patients to attend to.

* * *

When it was finally time for lunch, Jensen entered the cafeteria again, by this point moving easily on his crutches. He looked around, noticing that Misha hadn't arrived yet, and sat down at their usual table after he got his food.

The blandly painted room offered nothing interesting to occupy his attention, so as he waited for Misha to walk in, he prodded his lump of mystery meat with his plastic fork, trying to decide if it was edible or not - unlikely.

After five minutes, Jensen started to wonder what was taking Misha so long. After ten minutes, he started getting worried. He eventually went ahead and tried to eat something after fifteen minutes, frowning slightly - and not just at the taste.

By the time he'd finished everything that didn't look like it was going to poison him and Misha had still failed to show up, he caved. His doctor was standing in his usual corner, and Jensen waved at him slightly, calling, "Uh, Dr. Heyerdahl?"

Heyerdahl walked over almost immediately with a smug, knowing grin on his face. "Is there a problem, Mr. Ackles?"

Jensen sighed. He wasn't really in the mood to talk to the doctor - much less be polite to the guy - but he wasn't going to get any answers if he didn't. "I was just wondering if Mish—Mr. Collins was alright. Was he having a… delusion? Is that why he can't come down?"

The doctor nodded. "Oh, of course, Mr. Ackles. I wouldn't worry about it."

Jensen frowned. Heyerdahl might not worry about it, but Jensen would, and that's what he was doing. "But he's alright, isn't he? Did you have to sedate him?"

Heyerdahl shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm not at liberty to say, I'm afraid. Perhaps that's for the best, hm?"

Jensen couldn't hold back the low growl that came from the back of his throat at the other man's less-than-helpful answer, and he mentally shoved away the urge to violently wipe Heyerdahl's oh-so-irritating smirk off of his face. "Don't ' _hm_ ' me, you sonofabitch. Just tell me. I gotta know he's okay."

" _Temper, temper_ , Mr. Ackles," Heyerdahl chided, tutting mockingly. "No need to get aggravated."

Jensen forced a placid smile on his face. "Sorry, you're right. Now about 'Mr. Collins,' you were saying?"

"I believe I was saying that he won't make it to lunch today." And there was that grin again.

Jensen gritted his teeth impatiently. "Well, will he be at dinner?"

Heyerdahl shrugged, seemingly amused. "We'll have to see. It all depends on him, unfortunately. Anything else?"

"How bad is it? I know he said he was having a hard time lately…" He had to know. Despite everything, Misha was still his only friend at the state institute.

Heyerdahl shook his head. "I actually like to keep information private between myself and my patients, Mr. Ackles."

Well _that_ was rich. "Oh, so what? You're Mr. Professionalism now?"

Heyerdahl rolled his eyes. "Don't be immature. All I'm doing is my job."

What he was doing was being a major pain in the neck. Jensen let out a sigh of irritation. "Look, he told me, okay? The whole 'maybe Cas's real' thing. I already know what's going on, so just _tell me_."

"I'm afraid you don't, Mr. Ackles." Heyerdahl shook his head. "His condition has… worsened greatly since you last saw him; let's put it that way, shall we?"

Jensen took a deep breath, his brow furrowing in concern, before asking, "Is he lucid?"

Heyerdahl simply shrugged. "At times."

It was just his luck for him to suddenly have a major headache before he could ask for any more details on Misha's situation. He inhaled sharply, reaching up and clutching his head, squeezing his eyes shut. It felt like someone was stabbing his brain with an ice pick repeatedly. He swore under his breath as the pain worsened, clenching his jaw.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Ackles?"

"J-just... just a migraine…" He blinked, trying to clear his head, only for the pain to grow even worse. "Son of a _bitch_ …"

Heyerdahl tilted his head to the side. "I think it's time for your medication."

Jensen shook his head slightly, wincing at the movement. "N-no, it's not that, it's just... Just a headache. Really, I'm fine."

The doctor hummed. "Mm. Glad to hear it. Another… fit would be very tragic, considering you've been doing so _well_ keeping it under control." The words were praising, but the tone was mocking; Jensen could tell that even through the haze of pain.

Distantly, he heard his voice repeating itself. "Just. A h-headache." A pained gasp. "It's f-fine…" God, no, no, no, not again, he couldn't do this again, he couldn't, but it hurt so bad and Dean was so strong-

"...Mr. Ackles?"

The voice was so familiar, and he flinched instinctively, not entirely understanding why.

"...Dean?"

And then he knew. He _remembered_.

Dean looked up slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the burning light before fixing the doctor with an icy glare. "Bingo, _Alastair_." It only took him a split second to throw himself at the demon, pinning him to the floor in a choke hold. "What'd you do with Cas, you sonofabitch?!"

Finally, Alastair gave up his entire 'Heyerdahl' charade, laughing harshly, the sound coarse and painful on Dean's ears. "Oh, can I just say that I've missed our little chats?"

Alastair's words sparked dozens of memories to rise up… Memories that Dean had tried so very hard to keep buried. The same memories that had haunted his dreams for weeks after he'd come back...

 _Hooks digging into his shoulders, his thigh, his side, holding him suspended over sulfuric fire_...

He swallowed, trying to push the memories away. "Yeah, well-" But he couldn't manage to keep from remembering everything; remembering Hell.

 _A knife carving into his chest, tearing his ribcage out bone by bone. The sick cracking noises that came from his ribs splintering, sharp enough to cut through flesh. Being sliced open with his own bones... oh God, Sam, Sam, please..._

"I was never really sentimental..."

 _It was Sam. It was Sammy. His little brother had done it; Sam'd saved him. They were gonna get outta here; he had Sam so he was alright now... But then Sam's eyes. They were black. Sam with eyes blacker than the night… It wasn't Sam. It wasn't. He told Alastair that. He told him, and then everything hurt… It hurt so much..._

His voice wavered. "Y-You know me." How the hell was this happening? Alastair was dead; Dean had _watched_ him die. Sam had _killed_ him.

Alastair cackled - _like he would when Dean had a soul on the rack, and like he did when he_ watched _Dean rip the poor bastard to shreds, and just like when -_ "I'd say otherwise, considering. Missing Sam yet, are we?"

Dean sucked in a fast breath, all memories shoved aside at the thought of his brother. God, Sam was still at the first looney bin - with _Crowley_.

"Oh, I am gonna kill you. _Slowly_." He fumbled for something, anything to use as a weapon, grabbing a salt packet from his tray and tearing it open with his teeth, still keeping one hand fisted in the demon's collar. He wasn't about to waste his chance now that he was lucid.

Panicked, struggling, and still in pain, Dean didn't even notice the orderlies coming up behind him until it was too late and they had him by his upper arms, one on each side and the third preparing a needle of sedative.

"I don't think so, Dean-o," Alastair informed him with a smirk. "Not today, at least."

" _NO!_ No, you get back here, you sonofabitch!" He fought the sturdy hands that held him, slamming a knee into one guard's stomach and jerking away when the stunned man let go, before punching another in the jaw.

The guards quickly realized Dean was a bit out of their league, two more running over to help forcibly pull him under control.

And the whole time, Alastair was laughing. "Oh, don't make me sedate you, Dean."

"I will rip your fucking _lungs_ out, you hear me?!" Dean grunted as one of the orderlies got a solid hit in, but still managed a glare as he pushed the woman back.

Alastair tutted. "Is that _really_ the best threat you can come up with? I thought I trained you better than that. Disappointing as always, Grasshopper…"

Ignoring the snide joke, Dean tried to send a man sprawling with a sweep kick, only to gasp in pain as he put too much weight on his casted leg and crumpled to the ground. He'd nearly forgotten the injury for a second - but that had been enough. Almost instantly, three burly guards were on him, at his shoulders, his waist, and his knees, effectively pinning him to the ground.

Alastair grinned, looking down at him, relishing in his powerlessness. "Your little brother called recently, by the way. Of course, he thought he was Jared, but… He seemed very concerned."

Dean refused to rise to take the bait, struggling in the guards' grip. "What's the big plan here?" he growled. "What do you fucking _want_?"

'Dr. Heyerdahl' put on an attempt at an innocent face that came out far too predatory for Dean's liking. "Oh, just trying to do as I'm told."

Shit, _that_ was never a good sign. "Whose orders?" He needed information - to get himself out of this mess, he'd have to know what he was dealing with.

"Lucifer's, actually. Currently posing as… a janitor, believe it or not, at Deerwater. Right where _little Sammy_ is working." Alastair smirked, tilting his head to the side as if to gauge Dean's reaction.

"You freaky sonofabitch…" Dean bit out. No way was his brother going down like this. "Sam's gonna figure it out, you know that, right?"

"Well, he _would_ ," the demon agreed, almost conversationally, allowing his wicked grin to grow even wider. " _If_ he remembered anything. Which is a shame, because Lucifer needs him to remember just a bit. Not everything, of course, but just enough to be able to say yes…"

Dean's eyes widen in horror as he slowly processed the information. _No_ … With Sam's brain turned to demon-goo, he was a perfect target for Lucifer's careful persuasion. All he needed was to be just lucid enough to say 'yes,' but not himself enough to recognize the importance and… "Go to Hell." And he meant _literally_. " _Exorciamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanicas potestas, omnis incursio infernaliis adversarii_ …"

And then there was the sharp sting of a sedative needle in his arm, sending cool numbness throughout his body despite his frantic struggles to get away. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, none of that…" _No no no no no..._

He fought the sedative as best he could, forcing his eyes open each time he caught them sagging, but it was a losing battle, and he didn't even notice when the needle was ripped from the muscle of his arm. " _Omnis... congregatio... 'tsecta... d'bolica_ …"

Alastair's voice was light and mocking, floating somewhere over his head. "Give up, Dean… You won't win."

Vaguely, he realized he was still mumbling the words to the exorcism he'd memorized years back. " _Ergo... draco... mal'dicte... ergo... ergo_ …" Words weren't coming right- what came next? _Exorciamus te… potestas satanicas…?_ Giving up on the botched failure of an exorcism, he gathered all the defiance he could muster and packed it into a weak glare. "G-Gon'... gon' hunt you down... 'n kill you…"

"Mmmm, no." The demon was laughing; _Alastair_ was laughing - just like he'd laughed in Hell - and Dean distantly appreciated the fact that his life _sucked ass_.

Dean's eyes closed slowly, despite his best efforts. His consciousness fading, he managed to choke out one more word - a reminder to himself and a plea for help rolled into one. " _S'mmy_ …"

* * *

 **So we hope you liked the chapter! Like we said last week, the chapters will start to get a bit longer than they had been previously from now on, for the most part. Thanks for reading, and don't forget to drop us a review! -Mimzy and Pixie**


	8. Cheek to Cheek

**Hey, everyone! So. This chapter. Remember how we said the story was going to get darker? ...yeah. This took us FOREVER to churn out, let us know what you think!**

 _ **Disclaimer**_ **: We do not own** _ **Supernatural**_ **.**

 _ **Warnings for this chapter**_ **: This chapter is basically one big torture scene. If you're not big on whump or blood, you might just want to skip to the end where we'll post a basic summary of what happened. Also? Language. ;)**

* * *

" **Cheek to Cheek" - Frank Sinatra**

* * *

" _Helloooo_ , Sleeping Beauty!"

Dean grimaced as he slowly returned to consciousness, becoming aware of the pain that seemed to throb through his entire body. There was no possible way this situation could be good, was there?

He opened his eyes slowly, wincing a little at the sudden bright light, only to see Alastair's grinning face looming not two feet away from his own. Pure terror took over as he realized he was strapped down to an extremely uncomfortable cot - helpless as he pulled frantically on his restraints, residual nausea from the drugs making his stomach churn dangerously.

But Dean was nothing if not a cocky sonofabitch, and he'd been out for far too long to let an opportunity like this pass him by. He schooled his face into a patented Dean Winchester smirk - one part boredom, two parts attitude - before he spoke, praying to whatever god there was that his voice would be steady. "Seriously, dude? We've been over this; I don't really dig the whole BDSM thing. Even if I did, I don't swing that way. Plus, you're not really my type."

Alastair simply let out a low chuckle, pulling back to walk behind the table so Dean had to crane his neck to keep the demon in his line of sight. "Oh? _Shame._ "

Well, maybe he was screwed, but at least he wanted to go down fighting. Dean started subtly pushing against the restraints, trying to keep Alastair from noticing the subtle action. "Yeah, your loss."

Fuck, fuck, fuck, no, this couldn't be happening. Even in this wacko amnesiac universe, Alastair was _dead_. Dean had _seen_ Sam kill him with his own eyes. He couldn't be back, this was some sick nightmare; he couldn't be back. He couldn't be... "I have missed this, Dean-o." _No, no, no, no, how could this happen dead you're dead, you're supposed to be dead-_

Alastair smirked as if sensing his thought process, but of _course_ he did; this was the demon that had personally taken Dean apart piece by piece and put him back together again, only _not him_ , a demon, and- He shook himself out of the panicked thoughts, forcing himself to focus and keep his bravado up. "S-Sorry. Can't say the same." He mentally cursed the slight waver in his voice, but kept his gaze stone hard.

All he got for his efforts was a harsh, grating laugh. "Ah, too bad. Relax, boy. I _am_ supposed to keep you alive, so no sending you back to Hell." He seemed to consider. "Just yet."

"What, you want me to _beg_?" Dean scoffed, shaking his head. "That's not happening."

Alastair ran a finger down Dean's jawline, leaving a thin white scratch from his sharp, wickedly curved nail, and tilted his head to the side as if examining it. "I could make you beg... Just like old times, hmm?" For his part, Dean set his jaw and tried not to flinch away from the touch, keeping his face as dispassionate as possible.

As the demon's grip on his chin tightened and his glare intensified, Dean had to shut his eyes, unable to hold the stare any longer. "Shut. Up." Goddammit, his heart was pounding a mile a minute - and he could tell that Alastair knew it too from the sneer on his face.

Content to watch his captive squirm and fight to stay calm, Alastair remained silent for a few moments before letting out a low hum. "It's such a _pity_ I was never able to get fully acquainted with your brother." Dean's eyes snapped open. _Sam_. _No_. "Perhaps if he takes too long to say yes to Lucifer, hmm? Have to make him remember just enough somehow… And pain is always a fantastic reminder."

Heat flared in his gut at the suggestion, all composure long abandoned as he yanked furiously on the restraints. "Don't you _touch_ him, you sonofabitch!"

Alastair laughed gleefully at his reaction, leaning so close to his face to whisper in his ear that Dean could feel the rough scratch of his stubble. "Just you, me, and Sammy. Now there's a thought. Wouldn't that be fun?"

Dean took the opportunity to spit in his face. "Go to Hell." He began to recite an exorcism, the Latin rolling easily and confidently off his tongue. Though as he continued and Alastair didn't seem to be affected at all, his words got slower and slower until he finally just stopped, swallowing hard.

"What, did you think that was going to do something?" It hadn't worked. Why the _hell_ hadn't it worked?! That was the most powerful exorcism ritual he and Sam knew.

He had one more, last ditch, shot-in-the-dark-desperate chance. "Ch- _christo_!"

Alastair smirked, patting the top of Dean's head as if he were some sort of amusing dog or pet. "Things work differently here, Dean, my boy. Of course, you can still feel pain, and die, and say yes to Lucifer, but exorcisms? Nope!"

His every instinct screamed that this was impossible; Alastair had to be lying - but he'd seen it with his own eyes. That exorcism should've worked, but for some reason it hadn't. And now Dean was totally defenseless, completely at the demon's mercy. Only problem? Alastair didn't _have_ any of that.

It was getting harder and harder not to panic. "What the hell is this? What's going on? Where are we?!"

"Where? Ooh, that's difficult to answer…" Of course. Did Dean really think he was going to get a straight answer from the guy?

"Yeah, lots of things are difficult to answer when you have the IQ of _road-kill_ ," he snapped. "Try your best." At least even now, seething with panic and rage and what he wouldn't admit - even to himself - was terror, he had enough strength to muster up a good snarky retort. The thought bolstered his spirits just a little. He wasn't beaten yet.

Alastair glared, his taunting grin replaced with a scowl. Clearly he'd expected his captive to be less confident, more of a quivering wreck. The reaction only made Dean set his jaw more firmly, however, heightening his resolve not to give the demon the satisfaction of seeing him beg. "Show some respect to your teacher, Dean. School isn't over yet. You still had a lot to learn in Hell."

The verbal jab was well placed, small cracks appearing in Dean's stony facade. "I'm not torturing. Ever again."

Alastair let out a disbelieving snort. "Oh, you were on your way to becoming a full-on demon, kid. I'd love to help you complete that process." He grinned again. "What do you say, hmmm? It'd save you a lot of pain..."

"Screw. You." He was surprised he managed to bite out the word; he was shaking so hard with rage.

But Alastair continued anyway, talking over Dean as if he hadn't even heard the protest. "And weren't we just discussing how your little brother might need a… painful reminder of who he is? Well, if you don't want _me_ to touch him…" Alastair paused for dramatic effect, flashing a smirk. "Perhaps you'd like to do it yourself."

Dean's eyes widened, bile rising in his throat at the suggestion."I am _never_ doing that again, understand me? Not to anyone, but _especially_ not to Sam!"

The demon hummed a laugh. "'Methinks thou dost protest' quite a lot, Dean-o." He patted his captive's casted leg none too gently, eliciting a startled gasp of pain.

But Dean bit back the small sound before he could cry out, gritting his teeth to stay focused. "It t-took you thirty years to break me last time. What makes you think this time'll be any different?"

"Because this time, you have more to lose." Alastair's grin widened slightly as the demon bared his white, pointed teeth.

The meaning of the statement made Dean pause with a shudder, then he shook his head slightly. "You need Sam. You won't touch him. And trust me, you don't want Cas remembering. He will smite your sorry demonic ass so hard…" It was a shot in the dark, but Alastair's scowl proved him right.

"Mmm, who says he'd remember?" Despite the supposedly confident reply, Alastair's expression once again betrayed him. Dean felt like singing. ...Well, maybe not quite that far.

"You wouldn't wanna risk it, would you? No, the worst you can do is hurt _me_." Dean didn't hold back a small, almost relieved smile at the thought. Alastair couldn't hurt Cas or Sam. Not really. They were safe. That was what mattered.

"And I plan on it." Alastair's grin was back in full force, but a dangerous, crazed glint now shone just below the surface.

" _So what's the plan for today, Dean-o? The rack? But no, that's getting old… I'm thinking acid pits."_

No. Not Hell. This wasn't Hell. It could never be as bad as Hell.

 _Fire - so much fire - licked up his legs to burn his chest, and then snaked_ inside _him. His bones felt as if they were made of fire; he was cooking from the inside out, and Jesus Christ, just kill me, just kill me-_

He couldn't-

" _SAMMY!" He was choking on his own blood -_ drowning _in it - but he wouldn't die. No no, that would be far too simple, an_ escape _. And there was no escaping Hell. "SAMMY!"_

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, twisting his head away in a desperate attempt to stop the flashbacks that threatened to overtake him. This wasn't Hell. No matter what Alastair did too him, it couldn't be as bad as Hell. He could die here, and Alastair wasn't willing to risk that.

He could distantly hear Alastair's voice continue speaking, taunting. "And after Lucifer takes over your _dearest_ little brother, and this all goes away… I'm going to find you again and hurt you some more."

Dean went back to pulling against the cuffs that held his arms down. Even if it was futile, it was something to do; something to keep his mind anchored in the present. "N-not gonna happen. You're not real. You're _dead_. Sam killed you."

"And now I'm back. Isn't that great?" Alastair walked behind him again, out of his line of sight, and he pulled fruitlessly on his restraints again, his skin crawling more and more the longer he couldn't track the demon's every movement.

"That's not quite the word I'd use." He swallowed the urge to vomit, straining to see what the demon was doing and regain some semblance of control.

When his wish to see was finally granted, Dean reconsidered. Alastair walked over to a small metal cart placed just inside Dean's peripheral vision, a jaunty spring in his step as he deftly selected a scalpel, curved and wickedly sharp.

Something warm trickled down his left wrist, and he realized in the back of his mind that he'd managed to draw blood from struggling against the straps that held him securely in place. A frantic pulse was pounding in his ears - _no no no -_ and he was just barely able to take his attention off the panic growing steadily now to register that the demon was _humming_ \- freaking _humming_ \- Sinatra's "Cheek to Cheek."

 _Fucking_ fits, _doesn't it?_ he thought derisively to himself, letting out a panicked snort of laughter. God, that wasn't good, if he was starting to crack already... Alastair was still humming as he walked back over, and Dean could see the glint of the blade in his hand. His eyes widened as he struggled even more than before as panic clouded his senses, eschewing all reason and ignoring the fact that he was only deepening the cut on his left wrist and creating one on his right.

"Get _away_ from me!" Dean tried to make the words sound bold, like a threat, but they came out as the pathetic plea both he and Alastair knew they were.

Alastair only smirked, lowering the blade slowly to first press lightly against his cheek, so he could feel the cool metal… and then push down, cutting deep into the skin. Dean let out a hiss with the pain, shutting his eyes tight.

"Y-You can't kill me. This isn't Hell, I won't come back. It's pain. It's just pain." The words were more of a reassurance to himself than anything else; a reminder that no matter how bad this got, it wouldn't be anything compared to what had happened in the thirty years Alastair had _played_ with him - both physically and mentally - down in the Pit.

"Oh, but is it?" Alastair slashed the scalpel down his chest, and Dean winced, clenching his teeth and trying hard not to let out any noise, even as he could feel his shirt split open and his skin beneath it, hot blood burning on his chest in contrast to the cold hospital air. A jolt of terror shot through him. Alastair hadn't even _started_ yet, not really.

Dean forced open his eyes once more, managing to glare at the demon. "I-I've had pain before." He couldn't help but curse loudly in his head at the sound of his voice wavering. "And nothing you can do to me here can possibly compare to Hell."

The demon smiled pleasantly, as if he and Dean were simply having a chat over a beer at the bar. "That's an interesting opinion. We'll see about that." And without any further preamble, Alastair plunged the sharp blade into his right shoulder, leaving it to stick out so it wobbled and jarred the wound further as it was released.

Dean couldn't do anything to hold back the scream of pain that was ripped from his throat, pulling futilely against the bonds before sagging back against them, breathing hard. "Th-that all you g-got?" Despite everything, he managed a weak chuckle, grimacing as the sound made his torn up throat protest loudly. "Getting rusty, aren't we?"

Obviously not appreciating the comment, Alastair reached over and twisted the knife even deeper into his shoulder. "I wouldn't say so."

Dean let out a sharp, pained gasp as the knife scraped against bone, before somehow - thankfully - managing to force a cocky grin onto his face. "I th-think you're l-losing your touch."

Alastair then yanked the knife out roughly, being none too careful to avoid widening the already gaping hole. He leaned in so close that Dean could smell his breath, sulfuric and sour all at once. "Oh, _baby_ , I'm just getting started."

Dean let his eyes flutter closed in a pitiful attempt to block out the pain, murmuring, " _C'mon, Cas_ …" He knew it was stupid to think that the angel might get him out of the situation like he had done so many times before, but he couldn't keep the two words from coming out.

Alastair heard the quiet plea for help - of course he did - and let out a harsh laugh. "Cas? He's not coming for you this time, _Dean-o_."

The demon wiped the blade of the knife clean on Dean's cheek, and the hunter naturally flinched away from the cold, metal touch that promised more pain to come. "Shut up." Yeah, so maybe it was a weak comeback. Dean was just proud he'd managed to get one out at all.

His captor pretended to consider Dean's offer as he studied the scalpel still in his hand. "Maybe you should _make_ me. Where's all that training I put into you, hmm? Don't tell me all my efforts have been _wasted_."

"Long gone. That's not me anymore." Although Dean glared up from his prone position defiantly, a small but insistent part of him wouldn't stop nagging, questioning, wondering _just maybe_ , if he were pushed _just right_ … He shoved it down again. Those thoughts were never going to see the light of day.

Alastair let out a snort at his denial. "Oh, I'd say it is. I can see it in your eyes…" Dean stiffened, heart pounding, and the horrified look on his face made the demon chuckle, ruffling his already sweat-soaked hair. "Ever wonder why Sammy isn't like you? Why he fully believes he's Jared and remembers _nothing_?"

Dean stared straight ahead, trying not to listen. He already knew what was going on. Alastair loved mind games almost as much as he loved physical torture. He'd say anything to Dean as long as he knew it would hurt. It wasn't true. It wasn't true. It _wasn't_ -

"I'd say it's because he doesn't _want_ to," Alastair mused, tilting his head to the side as if deep in thought. "He doesn't _want_ to remember his big brother, and all those times said brother couldn't protect him like he was supposed to… He doesn't want to remember how you dragged him from his nice, safe college and back into a world that'll more likely than not get him killed." A world that _had_ gotten him killed… how many times already? Alastair didn't even have to add that last part, Dean's own mind helpfully supplied it for him.

"This isn't _about_ what Sam wants," Dean snarled. "Azazel woulda found him anyway. All his friends were friggin' demons. He never got out, not really."

And it was true. He knew that - logically at least. There was a reason hunters could never really get out of the life, never settle down. Sam had never had a chance at a normal life, not since he was six months old. Hell, not since before that, when their mom had made that deal to save their dad. Sam had never had a chance. _None_ of them had. The game had been rigged from the start. But that did nothing to change the hard lump that was settling in Dean's stomach, a dense guilt that hurt more than his shoulder and gashes combined.

Alastair scoffed. "Oh?" He hummed slightly. "In this world, he doesn't even have a brother. None. At all. No memory of any bothersome sibling who would put him in danger _over_ and _over_ again. Because in reality, maybe he doesn't _want_ you."

"Th-that's not true," Dean stated firmly. "Sam wants me around; you just freaking _brainwashed_ him!" He shook his head. "No. No, you're _wrong_." But who was he trying to convince, exactly?

Alastair ignored him. "And now, for once, he's actually _happy_ as Jared. He has a wife, a kid… And memories of a _happy childhood_. The kind you never came close to giving him."

Dean swallowed, trying not to let the words get to him and failing miserably. All he'd wanted when he was younger was for Sam to have a better childhood than he'd had - for Sam to get to be a real kid, for a little while, at least. That plan hadn't really worked out as well as he had hoped.

He let out a quiet, defeated breath. "Sam knows I did my best. I couldn't help that Dad…" His voice trailed off into silence, unable to finish the sentence. Because who was he fooling? He had screwed up, and there was nothing he could do to fix it. Alastair night be the world's greatest dick… but he had a point.

"Oh, but couldn't you have?" Alastair tutted disapprovingly, judging Dean for not doing a better job protecting Sam from the hunting life. "Sammy didn't even have a childhood. And true, Azazel would have found him eventually, but he's gone now. What was it that stopped Sam from going back to college and having the life that he so desperately wanted after Azazel was gone? The life that he _deserved_? Answer is: You."

Dean's jaw worked furiously, but he refused to reply. He'd already let Alastair's words hit their mark despite knowing what the demon's game was. Saying anything else would only make the situation even worse.

Running a hand over the gash on Dean's chest almost lovingly, Alastair continued to fling his verbal barbs. "That's all you ever did, isn't that right? Stop Sam from getting what he wanted. He deserves _better_ than you, Dean…" Even if Alastair's words weren't true - _were they?_ \- it still felt like someone had hit Dean in the gut with a sack of bricks.

"Just stop," he murmured quietly, his eyes starting to water. The words held no real conviction behind them, but he honestly couldn't bring himself to care; he was just protesting on a matter of principle at this point.

"Why? Hitting a bit too close to home?" Alastair laughed. "Oh, wait, you don't have one of those."

Dean closed his eyes, refusing to take the bait. "I said, shut up."

"Am I hitting a nerve?"

He took a deep breath, fighting to get his emotions under control. But he was already exhausted, mentally and physically and something finally snapped inside his chest. His next words tumbled out before he even had the chance to realize he was talking. "You're not telling me anything I don't know, okay?"

Alastair's knowing smirk only widened. "What, that your brother is too ashamed of you to bother remembering your face? That all those times you failed him… that he still hasn't forgiven you and never really will?"

"I _know_ , dammit!" He yanked angrily on his bonds, making his already torn-up wrists flare with pain again, before stopping and letting out a shaky breath. "I know…"

His tormentor let out an amused chuckle as he continued to study the blade in his hand nostalgically. "Ah, just like old times…"

It wasn't a question, so Dean didn't bother with a response, stiffening almost imperceptibly as the monster in front of him trailed the knife once more across his chest. He saw Alastair's grin widen at the sight of more blood soaking his shirt as the blade cut into skin, and Dean had to bite down on his lip to hold back a pained gasp.

"You planning on killing me or what?" Dean asked, half expecting a knife through the gut for the question, despite Alastair already stating otherwise. Which he supposed said something about his state of mind at the moment, but… he was too done to care.

Alastair shook his head regretfully. "Unfortunately, I can't… Orders are orders."

Dean let his head fall back to rest against the cot he was strapped to. "You know Sam's not coming for me, right?" If this was a ploy to use him as some sort of bait, it wasn't very well thought out. Sam didn't even know his own name, much less where or how to find Dean. His baby brother probably didn't even know Dean was in trouble.

"Oh, yes." Alastair's tone confirmed that Dean was definitely not bait, meaning that they were keeping him alive for something else. "But don't worry. I'm sure Lucifer will take such good care of him down at Deerwater."

Dean scowled at the demon's stupidity. He knew his brother better than that. "Sam's stronger than you think. He won't say yes to that bag of dicks."

"But _Jared_ might."

Dean stiffened at the very real possibility, swallowing bile as the nauseating reality of the situation struck him. If Sam said yes, amnesia or not… Well, it wasn't going to matter. 'Jared' wasn't going to be that stupid. ... _Was he?_ "Not if I have anything to say about it."

"But you won't. That's the problem," Alastair stated with a small smile, watching as the full stretch of Lucifer's plan hit the young hunter. "You _can't_ save your brother. You've already failed him. Again."

Heat crawled up his face and stung at his eyes, and Dean realized too late that salty tears were threatening to fall. He clamped his eyes shut and turned his head away from his tormenter, hoping against all Winchester luck that the weakness had gone unnoticed.

"There's nothing you can do, Dean," the demon informed him once again, humming gleefully.

"Shut up," Dean's voice came out a whisper, and despite everything - despite a lifetime of hunter training and denying all emotion - a single tear managed to slip past his defenses and trace a burning path down his sliced-open cheek.

Alastair saw it, naturally, and his face crumpled in a look of mock sympathy. "Aw, have I upset you?" He reached over, gently wiping the tear away with an almost loving caress, before hitting the hunter across the face roughly with the back of the same hand. Dean's head snapped to the side with an audible _crack_ and his mouth filled with hot, coppery liquid, sickeningly sweet. "I taught you better than to cry, Dean… You've disappointed me."

Goddammit, he could almost hear his father's voice, echoing those same words. But it wasn't Dad - it _wasn't_ \- so Dean spat blood in the demon's face, glaring defiantly. " _Good_."

Alastair let out a seemingly patient sigh, reaching up and wiping the blood off of his face with a silken handkerchief that he folded neatly and slid back into his pocket. "Now, now… Don't be petty…"

Dean let out an angry snarl. "You think I want something like you to be 'proud' of me?"

"Well, someday you will." Alastair's lip twitched upwards in a cruel imitation of a smile. "After all… I'm your mentor."

The words came out as more of a certainty - a _promise_ \- than Dean was comfortable with, and he shuddered at the conviction ringing in the voice of Hell's greatest torturer. " _Never. Again._ "

Alastair snorted as though Dean had just told a hilarious joke. "That's only what you think. It may take another thirty years, Dean… But I will break you. And we have all. The time. In the _world_."

From his prone position on the cot, the demon that still haunted his nightmares looming over him, and Sam and Cas unaccounted for, Dean was forced to admit that things looked pretty grim. But he ignored all that, reaching down as far as he could to summon up what little bravado he had left. "You can try. I won't have the pleasure of enjoying your company for any thirty years anyway."

The demon arched an eyebrow. "Who says I won't drag your hide back to Hell where it belongs, hmm?" He studied the terrified young man before him with a slightly amused air. "Let the fun commence."

"Y-you said it yourself," Dean stammered, well aware that his macho mask was long gone at this point and clinging to the one shard of comfort - if it could really be called that - he had left. "You can't kill me."

Dean could tell he'd hit a nerve by calling out Alastair's handicap. There was only so much torture the demon could put him through when he was forced to keep him alive. Alastair gritted his teeth, clearly aware of that fact. "Not. Yet." Each word was bitten out with such pure fury that Dean had no doubt that the demon would take the first possible opportunity to make good on his threat.

Alastair's cold tone combined with the furious gleam in his eyes was more than enough warning that he was going to make Dean pay for his remark. The hunter had a fairly good idea of what was coming next and couldn't help but flinch back slightly, swallowing as he tried to keep the motion hidden. Knowing that there was nothing else he could do, he did his best to recover the confident act that had long ago shattered, filling his voice with false bravado as he spoke. "Look, as much as I love flirting with you, let's just get on with it, shall we? I'm getting kinda bored over here with all this foreplay."

"Oh, I'd hate to bore you, _darling_ ," Alastair sneered, something dangerous lighting up in his eyes that confirmed more pain to come. "I thought you enjoyed flirting with me." The demon turned back to his cart, selecting another blade and running the tip over his finger to test its edge. Bright red blossomed on the fingertip, and the demon smiled in satisfaction.

In one slow, deliberately measured movement, Alastair pressed the scalpel against Dean's arm, cutting into it, and Dean inhaled sharply in lieu of a scream. He let the breath out slowly, struggling to maintain the composure he had just barely managed to recover. "L-Like I said. Not really my type."

"You're the one who started it all." Alastair pushed the knife a bit deeper into the skin, starting to cut down slowly as blood began to trickle down his forearm from the wound. "With that _noble_ deal you made."

Dean winced, his jaw clenching tight as he fought not let tears fall from the pain, barely managing the feat. Although how much longer he could was the real question. "J-just a heartbreaker. You know me." Jesus, he wished the bastard would just hurry the fuck up already and get on with slicing him to ribbons. The anticipation was half the torment - _which_ , Dean realized idly, _was probably the point_.

Alastair let out a low hum. "Unfortunately for you… I don't _like_ having my heart broken, Dean."

"I don't-" But Dean didn't get the chance to throw a flippant comeback in his captor's face, because with that, Alastair granted Dean's wish (a really, really, fucking _stupid_ wish, he now realized) and sliced down, pressing the blade even deeper into Dean's arm until it audibly scraped against bone before jerking it out again, pulling a strangled cry from somewhere deep in Dean's throat.

God, there was so much fucking pain… in his shoulder, across his chest, his torn-up wrists, and now his arm too… But Dean had already been to Hell and back - literally. He'd lasted thirty years in the Pit; he could last through this. With that thought to bolster him, he managed a bloody grin that was probably more of a grimace. "G-guess you'll have to buy some Ben and Jerry's... m-maybe a cat or ten."

Alastair let out a nasally, grating chuckle. "Oh, but you already know what I do to my _pets_." He slowly dragged the blade across Dean's other arm, repeating the same process as before.

"M-more of a pet rock kinda guy, then," Dean hissed out, clenching his teeth.

"Something like that." Grinning, the demon resumed humming the same stupid song as before. Dean couldn't help but think that the guy really needed to get out more and expand his music taste to more than just one lousy piece by _Sinatra_ of all people.

He let out a groan of pain as Alastair dug the knife deeper. "Y'know, you nick a vein and kill me, you're in some deep shit with your boss."

The demon nodded slightly in agreement, but didn't seem too concerned. "Which is why I'm very good at this. We both know I'm aware of what I'm doing."

 _Yeah, but…_ a sudden, impulsive thought struck Dean, and before he could really analyze it, he jerked his bound arm as much as he could, trying to make his captor accidentally cut into the artery that the blade was already hovering dangerously close to.

Irritation flashed across Alastair's features as he quickly pulled the knife back, realizing what Dean was doing. "Suicidal now, are we?"

"Go to hell," Dean spat, though a grin started to form on his face. He'd been right. Pulling a stunt like that had been all it took to get the demon to back off. Alastair might be a sadistic evil sonofabitch, but he needed Dean alive. If he bled out under torture, Lucifer was going to be pissed and even Alastair's reputation as Hell's favorite wouldn't be enough to excuse that sort of slip up.

Alastair went to cut him again, but Dean jerked his arm once more and the demon had to back down, rolling his eyes as he set the blade back on the cart. "I can still make your life very uncomfortable without a knife, Dean… You should know that."

The cocky grin faded from Dean's face as Alastair once more stepped out of his field of vision, a familiar discomfort lodging itself in his gut as he strained to see what the demon was doing, needing to know what was coming next so he could prepare himself.

Stifling silence filled the small room for a moment, except for the clinking of glass and the frantic thumping of Dean's heart. Finally, Alastair strolled back in front of the cot, idly turning a small glass bottle over in his hands as if it were an intriguing science experiment. "Have you ever heard of nightshade?" he asked, holding the unmarked bottle up so Dean could get a good look.

For the record, Dean hadn't - edible plants and wilderness survival had always been Geek Boy's forte, not his - but as he wracked his brains for any slip of remembered information, he had the sinking suspicion that whatever it was, he _really_ wasn't going to like it. "Wh-what?"

"Nightshade," Alastair clarified, in full-on teacher mode now, his tone didactic but bright with overly cheery enthusiasm. "It's a very poisonous plant. When in liquid form, when put in the eyes… well, frankly, they dilate tremendously. Makes it oh-so-painful to look into the light." By the end of his little explanation, the demon's excitement had far surpassed his faked scholarly interest and a wicked gleam shone in his eyes.

Dean wanted to throw up. Cuts, bruising, and all that bloody stuff he could handle, but being blind, however temporarily? Oh, hell no. In a last-ditch, desperate attempt to evade the poison, he squeezed his eyes shut so tightly they hurt and bright flashes danced across the blackness of his vision.

He could hear the quiet tap of shoes approaching the cot, getting closer and closer with the damn bottle."You know that won't work for long, Dean." The voice was amused, enjoying his pointless struggles, but Dean couldn't bring himself to stop, despite knowing there was no way it was going to do any good whatsoever.

After an unbearable stretch of time, the footsteps stopped just by his side and Dean set his jaw, twisting his head away as far as possible and trying desperately to control the tremors that now wracked his bleeding frame.

The pop of the bottle cork snapping open was all the warning Dean got before a strong hand gripped his jaw, forcing his head straight again as another jabbed at the sensitive skin of his eyelid to push it open. His vision swam into focus, blurred and disoriented as his one open eye tried to take in his surroundings, but he could still see clearly enough to catch Alastair's contented smirk before the lip of the bottle filled his vision and liquid fire erupted in his eye.

"Gah!" Dean let loose a long string of creative and colorful swears, slamming his eye closed again - too late. Liquid ran down his face, stinging the numerous gashes it gathered in, a mixture of both nightshade and tears as his body fought to expel the foreign substance. But before he'd even had a moment to really accept and breathe through the new pain, Alastair had his chin in a vice-like grip again and his other eye was being forced open and _shit_ and the bottle lowered again and _holy fucking-_ pain pain pain pain _pain_.

A rough pat on his cheek hardly registered with his dazed mind, but then the footsteps were backing away again and Dean wanted to open his eyes to see what was happening but they burned harder just _thinking_ about it and he couldn't even think straight because _mother of God,_ everything just _hurt_.

Brilliant light exploded in the room, setting off rockets of pain in Dean's head even though his eyes were still jammed tightly closed. He tried to twist his head away, tried to find some relief, but the light seemed to be coming from everywhere all at once, and God, he couldn't even form a coherent thought, the fire in his head was too bad.

A sound- shit- he couldn't coherently put together what it was or where it came from-

"Gaah!" An animalistic scream tore at the muscles of his throat- he hadn't had time to brace himself and now new, hot pain spread through his arm, somehow worse by the loss of his sight.

"Why don't you open your eyes, Dean?" Alastair taunted, and Dean just knew he was grinning at the tears rolling freely now, from pain and fear and fury. "Then you'll know what's coming." Then there was the slash of metal across his stomach, and he cried out again at the fresh fire spreading out from the wound.

"N-no... c-can't…" he managed to gasp out, his pain-muddled brain not fully processing the futility of the plea or that it would do nothing but make Alastair enjoy himself all the more. "Light h-hurts…"

The demon let out a not-so-sympathetic hum. "Mm, what a pity…"

Dean let out a low growl, trying to ignore his stinging eyes and the bright shining light he couldn't get away from. "H-How long does this shit last, anyway?" Although he wanted it to come out like a threat, a 'get this shit out of my eyes _now_ or else,' Dean was pretty sure it came off as more of a scared little kid who just wanted this to be _done_ , dammit. And he wouldn't admit, not even to himself, that the latter was a helluva lot closer to the truth.

"Well…" Before Alastair could say anything else, a phone beeped, slightly muffled from his pocket, and he sighed in exasperation. There was silence few moments, and Dean figured the demon had pulled out his phone to see what the text said, feeling grateful for the brief reprieve. "... _Idiots_."

Helplessness washed over him and he pulled at his cuffs yet again, the pain of his torn wrists barely registering over the throbbing of the rest of his body. "What? What's going on?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them - he hated begging anything of Alastair, even information.

"What's 'going on' is that I need better employees," Alastair grumbled, and Dean couldn't help but grin.

After all, anything that ticked Alastair off was instantly Dean's new best friend. "Sucks to suck."

A sharp slap to his face had fresh blood welling from his lip. "Oh, shut up." Apparently, Alastair didn't find the situation quite as humorous as Dean did, but that did little to dampen his new mood.

"Looks like you better get going then." Dean smirked, practically giddy with (maybe slightly childish) glee. He would have loved to see Alastair's face right now, but that wasn't going to happen. And what's more, he was going to get time _alone_ \- time he could use to try and weasel his way out of this goddamn mess.

He heard Alastair's phone snapped closed and there was the clatter of metal on metal as the scalpel was dropped back on the cart. "We're not done, Dean. Believe me, I'll be back." The threat hung in the air as footsteps stalked away in time with the thrum of Dean's pulse in his ears.

It took him only a minute to realize that the demon had purposefully left the bright interrogation-style lights on, shining straight in his face. Goddammit, he hated _everything._

But Dean didn't have the time to feel sorry for himself. With Alastair out of the room, he took the opportunity to test the cuffs more carefully, feeling around the edges with what little room he had, trying to Houdini himself out and away from this hell-hole. His efforts were a wash blind, though, so eventually he let himself sag back limply against the cot, completely drained. The throbbing of his pulse pumping blood out from his various wounds seemed to consume him completely in an oddly comforting way, and Dean could feel his consciousness starting to ebb...

The door opened again what seemed like only a few minutes later as well as footsteps approaching him, letting out an instinctive flinch. Alastair hadn't been gone as long as he'd hoped - or - _shit_ \- he'd passed out. He swallowed hard, tongue dry in his mouth, and willed his voice not to waver. "Round two, then?"

It wasn't Alastair's rough, nasal voice that spoke next, but the new one still sent chills down his spine.

"Hello, boy _._ "

* * *

 **So things have totally started to go down. We hope you liked that beautifully violent chapter-**

 **(Dean:** _ **I**_ **didn't.**

 **Pixie: Shut up.**

 **Mimzy: What she said.)**

 **-and that you will review to tell us all about it!**

* * *

 ** _Summary for those of you who decided to skip this chapter:_ Heyerdahl is Alastair. Alastair is a sadist who loves to torture. He tortured Dean. A lot. **

**_Injury catalog:_ Broken ankle that's carried over from previous chapters, sliced up arms, chest, and face, torn wrists, and temporary blindness. (Alastair put stuff - specifically liquid nightshade - in Dean's eyes that made them dilate, and then turned the lights up so that Dean wouldn't be able to see.) Also, Alastair played the whole 'your brother doesn't want you' game, which isn't exactly good news for Dean's already non-existent self esteem.**

… **.and that's why Dean now hates us. If he didn't already before. See you all next week, and enjoy the cliffie! -Mimzy and Pixie**


	9. Unwell

**Hey, y'all! Happy Tuesday!**

 **This is a pretty long chapter and we hope you'll enjoy it! We certainly enjoyed writing it! It marks a bit of a turning point in the story, we think.**

 **Recapping last chapter, Alastair tortured Dean, confirming that they're in a dream world as part of Lucifer's plot to make Sam say yes. Lucifer wants Sam just lucid enough to let him in while not enough to realize the magnitude of what he's doing. At the end of the chapter, Alastair had to leave the room, and a new, unnamed person entered, saying "Hello, boy." So if you (understandably) skipped last chapter, that's what you missed.**

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ **We do not own SPN.**

 _ **Warnings for this chapter:**_ **Language, slightly graphic descriptions of injury, and possible - _probable -_ medical inaccuracies.**

* * *

" **Unwell" - Matchbox 20**

* * *

" _Crowley_?" Dean tried to open his eyes for a split second but slammed them shut again with a hiss of pain, contenting himself with turning his head toward the sound. What the hell was _Crowley_ doing here? Dean almost didn't believe it, but the smooth British accent had been unmistakably his.

He didn't have to be able to see to _hear_ the smirk Crowley was undoubtedly wearing. "The one and only. Maybe if you actually had your eyes open, you'd be able to recognize me better. Usually helps, I've found."

Dean grimaced, his face still tight with pain from his brief attempt at opening his eyes. "Yeah, well, not gonna be doing too much of that for a bit. Mind turning the lights down a notch or a billion?" He didn't have to trust Crowley to get something out of him.

"Any particular reason why?" There was a scoff and footsteps, and for a minute, Dean thought his request was going to be thrown back in his face, but then slowly, mercifully, the lights dimmed and went out. He let out an involuntary moan of relief as the stars flashing across his closed eyelids faded and the burning in his head subsided to a dull throb.

Eventually, he realized that Crowley actually seemed to be waiting for an answer to the question - the demon honestly didn't know. Which was probably the reason he'd been granted the respite in the first place, Dean realized. "'Cause I met up with an old buddy of mine, that's why." He kept the reply short and clipped, not really wanting to get into another verbal sparring match - he was just too fucking tired for this shit. "What do you want, huh? Alastair's already taken care of the torture bit, so why's Lucifer having you pay me a visit?"

"Because I'm not here because of Lucifer, idiot," Crowley told him, letting out an exasperated sigh. "Believe it or not, I'm actually here to get you out. But only this once, so do keep that in mind. You're not the only one who doesn't exactly want Lucifer to win."

Yeah. _Sure_. Because demons were just lining up to help him out of messes like this, that's right. Dean scoffed. "You actually expect me to believe that? Why wouldn't you want him to win? I'm a hunter; you should want me dead."

Belatedly, Dean realized that maybe he shouldn't have been encouraging this course of action, but his heart continued to beat, so he figured he was in the clear for the time being. "Well, frankly, I prefer things the way they are. And without Lucifer, well…" Crowley paused for a moment, and Dean could just tell that he was smirking again. "There's this lovely opportunity for me to become the new king of Hell."

As Dean thought about it for a moment, he slowly began to realize that Crowley's reasoning made sense. The demon had always seemed to be more interested in keeping himself taken care of than anything else, and he was high-up enough that taking over Hell wasn't that much of a long shot if Lucifer was out of the way for good.

Okay, so maybe Crowley was on his side for once. No, scratch that, not really on his side, just… they had a common enemy. "So let's say I believe you, yeah? How are you going to get me out of here, and what happens after that?"

"Well, I created a nice, little diversion to give us time to get to my car, and then I'm dropping you off with your still forgetful brother. Someone has to make him remember, and I don't have the patience for it," Crowley explained, starting to undo Dean's restraints.

The hunter sat up warily, trying his best to hide the pain that the small motion sent shooting through his body. Sizing up the situation, he decided that it wasn't in his best interests to try to take Crowley out - just yet, at least. And as long as the demon was willing to play nice, he may as well get some answers.

"Wanna tell me what _Alastair's_ doing walking around?" Because if there was one good thing that came from Sam's little escapade into vampirism, it was seeing that sick sonofabitch go down screaming. And Dean had really thought that he had been gone for good. Apparently, he and Sam weren't the only ones who could cheat death, Dean thought grimly.

"Ah yes." Crowley paused for a moment. "Well, there's been a… You might say that…" Dean managed an impressive scowl with his eyes still slammed tightly shut, and Crowley used his excellent sense of self-preservation to hurry the fuck up. "Lucifer seems to have brought him back... along with Ruby."

Dean swore colorfully under his breath. Ruby was back too? Not good. Especially if she found Jared - if she hadn't already. "So care to enlighten me on _what the hell's going on_ , ' _Dr. Sheppard_?!'"

"Well, you're brother's gotten _married_ for one," Crowley chuckled. "To _Ruby_."

Oh, of _course_.

"I admit," Crowley continued, seemingly oblivious to Dean's sudden, overwhelming urge to murder something, "I should have seen it coming, but I never saw her as the marrying type… Even with the current circumstances. But still-"

"He _what_? He _married_ that bitch?!" Dean didn't want to hear any more. Countless possible scenarios flashed through his mind, each more horrible than the last. His only consolation was that in this world, 'Jared' probably wouldn't be in the habit of drinking blood. _Unless he and Ruby had gotten into some of that_ real _kinky shit_ \- No. Oh, _Jesus_ , get that thought out of his head.

"And from what I've heard, they have a _darling_ little boy." More disturbing thoughts.

Dean knew Sam thought he had a kid, but with Ruby, of all people? No way. "Oh, _Jesus Christ_ …" As soon as everything was fixed and Alastair and Ruby were dead again, Dean made it his top priority to never let his little brother forget this. _Ever_.

"Speaking of your brother, you need to get to him." Crowley's tone was impatient, and Dean could tell that they were running out of time. "I didn't come all this way just to _chat_. You need to get to your brother and make sure Lucifer does _not_ by any means get inside his head."

How dumb did Crowley think he was, anyway? Dean managed to swing his legs over the side of the cot, grimacing in pain. How was he supposed to walk with a slowly healing broken ankle? Not to mention practically blind. "Wasn't planning on it."

"You look absolutely terrible, by the way." Well, that comment was helpful. Dean had already figured that. He _so_ wasn't in the mood for this.

Unable to properly glare, Dean had to content himself with a scathing frown in Crowley's general direction. "Thanks a ton. Where are my damn crutches?"

Crowley didn't respond for a few moments. "...Well, I don't see them here."

Could this rescue get any better?

"Son of a bitch... Okay, anything else we could use?" He twitched his casted toes slightly. "I'm kinda stuck in this thing."

"And _this_ is what you get for jumping out of a window," Crowley spat. "Fine, lean on me. But say anything to _anyone_ about it… I will kill you and _everything_ you love. _Got it_?"

Well, apparently this rescue _could_ get better. If better meant 'even worse than Dean had ever imagined was possible.' Having to lean on a demon for support? Sam would never let him live this down if he was here. And now _Crowley_ was the one complaining?! "That's what you get for locking me up in a damn _looney bin_!" he grumbled. "And you aren't talking about this either. _Ever_." Swallowing his pride, Dean reached out a fumbling hand for the demon, cursing his temporary blindness.

Crowley scoffed, taking Dean's hand and helping him up to where he could drape an arm over his shoulders. "You're just lucky I've kept an eye out for the _Moose_ while you were gone."

"Yeah, you'd _hate_ to miss your big shot to be king of Hell, wouldn't you?" Dean grimaced. He hated this whole thing so much. Blind, gimp, in pain, and using a freaking _demon_ as a crutch, he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt quite this pathetic. "Okay, you gotta lead the way. I can't exactly see right now."

His injuries started to clamor for attention as he and Crowley slowly started to make their way out of the small cell, and the demon cursed as Dean's blood started soaking into the fabric of his jacket. "You know, if this weren't so humiliating for me, I'd call this perfect blackmail material…"

"Yeah, well, you tell anyone and I swear to God, I'll _end_ you. Don't come crying to me when- _Fuck!_ " His casted leg slammed into the doorframe as the demon carelessly maneuvered them out, waves of agony coursing up the limb. " _Dude!_ "

"My _apologies_ ," Crowley snarked in a tone that was entirely _not_ apologetic in the slightest. "Do try to keep up."

Dean had to wonder just what sort of distraction Crowley had caused that could allow them this much time, but then again, he wasn't sure if he actually wanted to know. Instead of asking, he let out a dangerous growl at Crowley's comment. "Yeah, I've only just been freaking _tortured_!"

" _Exactly_ ," Crowley hissed, clearly not wanting to be overheard. "Stop whining about it, hmm? We're in a bit of a _rush_."

Maybe beggars couldn't be choosers, but Dean would give just about anything to have Sam by his side right now; to have _Sam_ be the one supporting him out of this mess, and to- but there was no use playing the wishing game, Dean reminded himself. Right now, his little brother didn't even remember his own name. Dean didn't get the luxury of having Sam there to help him through this, because not even _Sam_ had Sam there. And until he did, Dean was just going to have to be strong for the both of them, he decided, his resolve hardening.

Finally, after a few more times of Crowley 'accidentally' ramming Dean's cast into something, they finally made it out of the building. Instead of walking on tiled floor, Dean could feel the grass underneath his feet as Crowley led him to where he'd apparently hidden the get-away car. When the finally got to it, Crowley opened the door to the passenger's seat, helping Dean into it in a not-so-gentle manner.

"Just feel grateful I even came for your sorry hide," Crowley grunted as he slammed the door closed. "Really, you should thank me." Another door slammed, and Dean assumed his new ally had gotten in on the driver's side. Apparently demonic teleportation was just too easy, wasn't that his luck? "I only sent you to this institution in the first place in hopes that you'd team up with that _bloody angel_ … And instead you made him disappear. Well _done_ , Squirrel. Well done."

So Crowley had known about Cas. ... _Cas_. Dean swallowed the guilty lump forming in his throat and forced himself to focus. "Do you know where he is?"

"Not yet.," Crowley dismissed the question carelessly as he started the car and started driving. "I'm assuming somewhere around here. I'll do my best to figure that out at a later point in time." His tone sobered as he changed the subject. "Anyway, right now, you need to go visit your brother and knock some sense into that brain of his. He _is_ remembering. Or, he's about to, if you asked me. 'Jensen' complained about getting nasty headaches before he started having a fit. Aka: before you finally broke out - took you long enough, if you ask me. And your brother has been having an awful _lot_ of migraines. He may not remember, but he's getting there. And Lucifer knows it."

Dean nodded somberly as his mind switched gears, latching on to the more immediate problem. He felt sick abandoning Cas with Alastair, but it wasn't like he was in any shape to pull off a rescue now, and he had to deal with the potentially-world-ending problem first, no matter what. Much as it hurt him to even think it, Cas would understand. "So we're running out of time, fast. ...How can I help him? He didn't believe that 'Jensen' was the fake one back at Deerwater, and he's always been stubborn. He won't believe me right off the bat."

And of course Crowley wasn't going to be helpful. "Frankly, I have no idea. That's up to you to figure out. He and 'Jensen' were friends, which should help. And even 'Jared' seemed rather fond of _you_." There was a momentary pause as Crowley considered, broken only by the rumble of the car's engine. "Not to mention, it's rather obvious by your condition that someone did this to you, so he can't say that you weren't physically harmed by someone. Keep him calm, for the most part. _Don't_ let him take you to Deerwater."

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." Dean sighed. Fine. If he was gonna work this like any other job, he'd need research, just like always. "What's the intel on Lucifer?"

"He's plotting," Crowley said, driving around a curve at a speed that sent Dean slamming into the car door, his wounded shoulder screaming in protest. "Waiting for the right moment to strike. I'm not sure how he plans on getting Jared to say yes, but knowing him, he's got some sort of scheme. This… It's not real, Dean. This is an illusion. But… a deadly one."

Dean swallowed, brain working overtime to process the new information. "So... so any deaths or injuries here... they transfer to the real world?" But that didn't make sense, unless... "What, are we in some sorta coma now?"

"Of sorts," Crowley answered carelessly. "And yes, basically. You, Sam… the angel. Even us demons. We're all lying around somewhere, just _dreaming_ away. Like a djinn, only far more powerful. And anyone with your unconscious body while you were being tortured. Probably had a bit of a panic attack, I'd imagine." The demon chuckled, clearly finding the idea amusing. "To my knowledge, the only way to wake up from the dream is to either kill Lucifer—unlikely—or if Lucifer wins. If I were you, I'd start thinking up a third option."

Dean scowled. How was he supposed to think up a way to magically fix this?! He had virtually no information- hell, he didn't even know how to exorcise a damn demon here!"Yeah, thanks. You got any bright ideas? Cause all I know about 'dream worlds' is from the Matrix."

But apparently Crowley was dead set on being absolutely no help whatsoever."If I did, I wouldn't be suggesting _you_ think up of one, now would I?"

"God dammit…" Dean rubbed his face wearily. Where were the days when being rescued from a psycho meant you'd earned yourself a little R&R, huh? "If it's a dream world, Lucifer's controlling everything in it. How the hell am I supposed to fight that?" Because really, things were looking pretty stacked here.

"Absolutely no idea, at this moment. My best bet was to have you join up with the holy tax accountant. And look how _that_ turned out."

Dean growled at the mention of Cas. The angel was his _friend_ , for Christ's sake, and they were just _abandoning_ him and moving on to 'plan B.' "A little info woulda been _nice_. You couldn't be bothered to fill me in before shipping me off?!"

Crowley's tone turned defensive. "I was busy! And you would have tried to rip my throat out with a plastic fork - _again_ \- if I'd tried, most likely."

"Yeah, well, forgive me for not trusting the demon who's the head of the _mental hospital_ I wake up strapped to a bed in!" And Crowley was really supposed to be trying to help him here?

Crowley didn't respond, apparently deciding to concentrate on his driving rather than bicker anymore. Childishly, Dean got a small burst of satisfaction from getting the last word - he'd won the argument. Irritated and exhausted, he leaned back in his seat and allowed himself to relax the slightest amount. "You know where to find Sam?"

"Well, seeing how he works for me, I happen to have his address. It'll be rather late when we get there, of course, as traveling with you means I'm _limited_ to this Hell-forsaken _automobile_ -" Yeah, cause Dean was _really_ about to _apologize_ \- "but I have a feeling he'll still be awake."

Dean nodded wearily, starting to drift off, but quickly shaking himself back to full alertness - or as alert as he could get in his current state. What was he _thinking_?! He'd had enough first aid training to know that letting yourself sleep with this much lost blood was a one-way ticket to medical shock."No," he muttered aloud to himself in an attempt to keep a hold on consciousness. "No, can't sleep... blood loss…"

Awkwardly with his wounds, he pulled off the tattered remains of his hospital scrubs shirt and tore it to strips with his teeth. When he had a good handful of makeshift bandages, a thought struck him - he couldn't fucking _see_. And unless he felt like bleeding to death before he even got to Sam's house, he was going to have to open his eyes and patch himself up. And that was going to hurt like a _bitch_.

Taking a deep breath to brace himself, Dean forced his eyes open just enough to get a sense of what he was doing. His eyes burned at the bright light, and he silently cursed Crowley for getting him out of there in the daytime instead of at night. What kind of rescue happened in the middle of the day anyway?! He still couldn't believe they hadn't been caught. He had to hand it to Crowley, whatever he had done to keep Alastair and his lackeys from finding them before they even left the building must have have been extremely well-planned out.

Working as fast as he could while still getting the job done right, Dean wound the bandages around his sliced arms and pressed what he had left to his shoulder, shivering from the cold but knowing that he needed to stop the still fairly steady blood flow at all costs. As soon as he was satisfied with his work, he slammed his eyes closed again, sighing in relief as the pain in his head ebbed considerably with the return of the darkness.

Crowley let out a beleaguered sigh as Dean heard him press a button on the car, and hot air started blowing from the vents. "Try not to die in my car. I'd hate to have to explain that situation to 'Jared.'"

Like he would go to all that trouble. "You'd probably just dump me in a ditch somewhere," Dean mumbled. "But yeah, not dying falls pretty close to the top of my priority list."

"Oh - and do try to keep your blood off the seats as well," Crowley said, because he clearly hadn't already been callous and irritating enough. "Rather expensive car, don't you know."

Dean just scowled. It was official. He _hated_ working with demons.

* * *

"Oi, Squirrel. Wakey-wakey." The voice came to him through a sleepy haze and Dean forced his eyes open, wincing a little at the light of the headlights, but relieved to find that the pain in his eyes was bearable again. He seriously hadn't liked being blind and helpless around a demon, even if they were 'allies.' A small groan escaped him as he pushed himself up, quickly reorienting himself as the day's events came flooding back to him.

Crowley didn't even bother to glance over at him, and once again Dean felt a pang of longing for his oversized little brother who'd surely be mother-henning right now. "We're here."

The house was… _normal_. Even in the night, he could see it had two stories, a fenced-in yard with dark silhouettes of what were probably children's toys scattered across the broad lawn, and a single window lit up from behind drawn shades. It was the picture of suburbia, of _normality_ , of a different reality where things that went bump in the night were just the things of tall tales and bad dreams.

Sam's house was everything the kid had always wanted, and the thought of taking that away from his little brother felt like a punch in the gut - but it wasn't real, Dean reminded himself. It wasn't real, and Sam was in more danger here than he'd ever been back in their actual life.

"Oh, god. I fell asleep with _you_ driving?" Truthfully, he was a bit horrified he'd fallen asleep at all, given his condition, but there was something about trusting a _demon_ completely enough to actually _fall asleep_ in its presence that made Dean's stomach turn.

" _Apparently_." Crowley rolled his eyes at Dean's mistrust. "Now go on then. It's around...1 o'clock in the morning, give or take a few minutes. I need to leave as soon as you're out of the car. Can't be gone for too long and all that. Now, _get_." Crowley made shooing motions with his hands impatiently, undoubtedly wanting to go about his own business and be done with the hunter for the night as soon as possible.

Dean scowled. "So I make Sam remember... _somehow_... and convince him not to drag my ass back to the looney bin… _somehow_... and then what?" This plan seemed to be nothing more than one big hole, and on top of that, he'd have to do it all half-dead.

"And then you find another way to wake up from this blasted _dream_ , that's what." Crowley shot him a look, and his expression made it clear to see that the demon was more than ready for Dean to get out so he could leave.

"Great. Any helpful hints?" Considering the ride over here, Dean doubted that Crowley did, but it was worth a shot.

"Hmm…" Crowley seemed to think about it for half of a second, before shaking his head. "No. Sorry, Squirrel. You're on your own."

Dean rolled his still slightly stinging eyes, pushing the car door open with effort and struggling to his feet, and braced himself heavily on the car as he tried to keep his weight off of his broken ankle. "How the hell am I supposed to get to the damn door?"

Crowley smirked, clearly not about to repeat the stunt they had pulled to get Dean into the car in the first place. "Oh, you're smart. I'm sure you'll figure something out. Go on then. _Shoo_."

Dean shot him a glare. "Well, up yours too, then." He shifted his weight so he was leaning on a tree instead of the car, before painstakingly, almost _miraculously_ managing to drag himself to the door of the house. He was only barely conscious by the time he brought a shaking hand up to knock on the door.

Distantly, he heard Crowley gun the engine and drive off, making it official that he was on his own from this point forwards until Sam remembered.

He heard footsteps from behind the door, and it opened to reveal the one person he'd been wanting to see since he first woke up in the state institution. Sam looked at him, his eyes widening as he took in Dean's bloody appearance and paling visibly. "J- _Jensen_?!"

Dean felt his face melt in relief. Sam was here. Sam was okay. He didn't remember - not yet - but they were together again. And Dean could fix this. " _Sammy…_ " He meant to say more, but suddenly the world was tilting dangerously to the side as blood loss and exhaustion finally caught up with him and his knees buckled beneath him, unable to support his weight any longer.

Sam caught him before he could hit the floor, holding him up. "Jensen…" Sam helped Dean inside, supporting a large amount of his weight and bombarding him with questions as they went. "What happened?! How… How'd you get here? How'd you even know where I live?"

All valid questions, and none of them had answers he could exactly give. Dean hesitated, but then one thing Sam had said stuck out in his mind, setting alarm bells ringing.

Shit… _Jensen_. For all of Crowley's _fantastic_ advice, the demon _had_ had a point. If Sam brought Dean back to Deerwater, all of this would be a wash and they'd be right back at square one. No, worse off, because then Lucifer would realize they had started to catch on. Realizing he'd been mumbling his thought process aloud, Dean shook his head, hoping it had been low enough to escape 'Jared's' notice. "S-sorry. Didn't mean to call you Sam… just… tired, I guess…" Dean forced a shaky smile. That much he didn't even need to pretend.

"Yeah, come on…" Dean could hear the worry in Sam's tone, as well as what he figured was probably shock. _It made sense_ , he decided bemusedly. Sam might be used to Dean showing up looking like he'd been through a meat grinder at all hours of the morning, but 'Jared' sure as hell wasn't. In fact, his brother's expression might have been comical, given decidedly different circumstances. Sam's voice shook. "L-Let's get you to the couch or something… What the hell _happened_ to you?"

Sam helped him into what Dean guessed was the living room and over to a blue couch, managing to do one of the many things Crowley had failed miserably at - keep Dean from whacking into stuff accidentally. Dean sank down tiredly into the couch, letting the white noise of the late-night news still playing softly on the TV wash over him as he finally gathered the will-power and energy to answer Sam's question.

"G-guess the state institution wasn't as friendly as you thought." He swallowed hard, wondering when he should reveal his true identity as Dean, not Jensen. He couldn't rush it, but still…

Panic showed clearly on Sam's face. Shit, he was _not_ doing a good job of this. "W-what?" the younger man asked, fighting - and failing - to keep his expression calm and collected. "Do you mean… Jensen, are you telling me that someone at the state hospital did this to you?"

"J-just…" Dean didn't have a good answer for that, so he dodged the question expertly. Yet another great reason he should've kept himself awake in the car: he should have seen these hard-to-answer questions coming. "It'll be cool, just... need to rest." Dean let his eyes drift closed as he sank back into the comfort of Sam's couch. It'd been far too long since he'd just been able to truly lie back and relax...

But before he could get comfortable, there were hands gently helping him sit up again, propping him against the arm of the couch to get a better look at his wounds. "What you _need_ is medical attention…" Sam mumbled. "These need stitches, Jensen - oh, _god_ , I can see the freaking _bone_ of your shoulder here. We have to get you to the ER. Now." Sam looked up at him, only barely restraining his panic as he gripped the wounds to keep the pressure tight. "Why didn't you go there in the first place instead of coming to _me_ of all people?"

"Because I _can't_ , dammit, Jared!" Dean snapped. "They're looking for me, they'll find me, and they'll drag me back again! What about 'crazy psycho' don't you understand?!"

He hadn't even thought of the very real possibility that Sam would drag him to an actual hospital for his physical wounds. Dean had just gotten so used to his brother patching him up from the brink of death over the years that he hadn't stopped to wonder how a civilian like Jared would react to this sort of situation. But the facts remained - he could _not_ go to the emergency room. Lucifer and Alastair would find him in a moment, and he - not to mention Sam - would be done for.

Jared shook his head, face still far paler than was probably healthy as he gently probed the injuries. "Jensen, dude, I might be a nurse, but I can't trust myself to take care of cuts like this. They need sutures; they need to be sterilized… They need a real doctor. If you're really worried someone's going to come after you, we can get a guard posted outside your door; I'm sure the police are going to want to talk to you about this anyway, and-"

Dean cut him off. He'd had enough experience to know what happened to oblivious human cops that got in the way of an angry demon. " _No_ , Jared. _Please_." Realizing he'd need to provide more information than that, he went on. "The guy who did this… he's gotten past the police before. And at the ER they'll need my name and medical history… they'll find me. I just know they will. Please… if you can stitch this… I just need to lie low for a while. Cops won't be able to protect me once I'm found, so the best solution is to stay hidden, at least for a while."

He could see that Sam thought about it, but not for long. "Jensen… I-I can't trust myself to do this. I could end up making things worse… And I don't know how powerful the anesthetic I have is, and I'm not trained for this really nor am I even good at it, and…" He stood up abruptly, giving Dean's good shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Hold tight for a minute and keep pressure up on that. I need to write a note to my wife and get the car going; we have to take you in to get this fixed up. The police can keep you safe, alright?"

The taller man left the room in a hurry and Dean slammed his head back against the couch in frustration. He could see literally no way of getting out of this without making a run for it or knocking Sam out, neither of which were exactly desirable options. Actually, he didn't even think they _were_ options at the moment. 'Jared' might not be much of a fighter, but Dean wasn't exactly at top performance himself now. Despite the situation, Dean found himself drifting away again to the sounds of Jared's hurried footsteps in the kitchen and the soft murmur of the television...

" _Authorities are still on high alert_ …"

" _No signs of forced entry_ …"

" _Evidence of a struggle found in the patient's room_ …"

The news report washed over Dean like water as he slowly started to drift off, not really hearing the words. But even half conscious, it was impossible for him not to flinch at the all-too-familiar nasal voice that started projecting from the TV's speakers.

" _Mr. Ackles disappeared late this afternoon, right out from under our expert care at Kansas State Psychiatric,_ " Alastair began, voice dripping with false sympathy and regret. " _Until he is recovered, his mental health and safety are in grave jeopardy, not to mention the potential risks posed to those he encounters off his medications. We've broadened our search patterns to include_ -"

The newscast continued, but Dean was no longer listening. " _JARED!_ "

"Jensen?!" The nurse came rushing out of the kitchen, the terrified look on his face saying all too clearly that he was prepared for the worst. Seeing that all was well - or at least no worse off than it had been left - Sam's brow creased in confusion, although his relief was evident as well. "What's going on?"

" _That's_ going on," Dean pointed at the glowing screen to draw Sam's attention to it. Yeah, it was bad that the ward had gotten on top of his disappearance so quickly, but truthfully, Dean'd expected nothing less. And maybe this newscast was just what he needed to convince Sam not to take him to the ER. Dean's intake picture filled the screen, 'MISSING' flashing bright red beneath it as Alastair's voice droned on. "I told you, Jared, they're looking for me. And if he finds me…"

Sam's eyes widened in horror as he stared at the screen. "Wait… so you're saying, the guy who did this to you…"

Dean nodded a little, reminding himself that yeah, this might be the daily grind for Sam, but he'd have to treat 'Jared' like any other civvie, at least on this count. "Yeah. He's looking for me, getting ready for round two. It's Al-" he stopped himself, "Dr. Heyerdahl. My 'shrink.'"

There was a pause as Sam processed the information, looking a little sick as the familiar name resonated with him. "I… I talked to him. Heyerdahl… I called to see how you were doing; I…" Sam took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, though Dean was pretty sure it wasn't working. Alastair _had_ mentioned a phone call… "He's the one who did this?"

The camera panned back to get Alastair in the shot again, and Dean couldn't help but flinch at the icy eyes that seemed to stare right through him, even from beyond the screen. "Y-yeah," he answered, telling himself that his shaking voice was entirely an act - _definitely_ not real fear. "He's looking for me. And if he gets me back, he won't hesitate to finish the job he started."

If it was even possible, Sam went even paler than before, car keys falling out of his hand to clatter in a heap on the carpet. " _Shit_ \- Jensen - you weren't kidding about needing to lie low..."

Dryly, Dean scoffed. "Nah, I was just pulling your chain. Just kidding, I'm not bleeding out all over your couch, either! _April_ freaking _Fool's_." Taking a deep calming breath, Dean reminded himself that this wasn't Sam's fault. 'Jared' was just trying to do the best he could. "But you get why I can't go to the hospital now, right? My word against his, that's all it is. It'll take time to get any real charges set up, and Heyerdahl won't need long to get past a couple of small-town suburban cops."

Jared nodded slowly, walking over and shutting the television off. Dean's true panic had obviously scared the other man more than he cared to admit. "Alright then… I'll… I'll see what I can do about fixing you up. It's not really my area of expertise, but…" His brother walked back over to him, looking his wounds over. "But as soon as we figure out a safe way to do this, we're taking you in to get these professionally looked at, you got that?"

Dean smiled a little, relaxing into the familiar routine of his geeky brother taking care of him again. It wasn't exactly an unfamiliar scenario. "Th-that'd be great, thanks…" he murmured, allowing himself to enjoy the safe feeling now that he knew he wasn't about to be sent to the hospital, practically gift wrapped for Alastair to find. A slight frown creased his brow as another bleary thought came to him. "Lost my crutches…"

"That's okay; we'll deal with that later. I'm gonna go grab our first aid kit, alright? Stay put…" Like Dean was going to be moving around doing cartwheels right now. Ha. Sam walked out of the room quickly, probably needing some air from the whole situation, which gave Dean a few moments to himself.

"Dammit, Crowley…" Dean swore quietly. What the hell was he supposed to do now? 'Jared' was still under the impression that Dean was Jensen, and he had no idea how to tell his brother the truth and convince him to believe it.

Sam came back in a few minutes later, first aid kit in hand, immediately slipping into doctor mode. "Okay, so… Any injuries I'm not seeing?"

"Uh…" Dammit, his brain wasn't working right. This was an easy question, one with no strings attached, and one he could actually answer. "N-no… the arms… the chest and stomach… shoulder…" Dully, he rattled off his injuries, but it was hard to pinpoint them when his entire body just generally felt like it was on fire.

"Got it…" Sam gently removed the strip of material Dean had tied around his left arm, taking care as the fabric pulled free the fresh scabbing that had only just started to form.

"Bandaged 'em, though," Dean informed him, despite the fact that Sam had obviously already noticed. "Kept pressure on 'em…" Sam dabbed stinging disinfectant cream on the gash and Dean winced, biting back a string of expletives.

"Good," Sam took a deep breath, pausing to still his slightly shaking hands. He swallowed hard before injecting a local anesthetic next to the gash on Dean's arm, muttering quiet, distracted apologies as Dean hissed at the initial burning sensation before a cool numbness set in. Dean let his eyes fall closed, completely trusting his brother even as he felt the slight tug of skin as Sam slowly started to stitch up one of the worse cuts on his arm. It wasn't _painful_ , exactly - especially not with the good anesthetic they'd never been able to get their hands on back in the real world - but it wasn't exactly a comfortable feeling, either.

Dean opened his eyes slightly, glancing at Sam. "How are things here?"

Sam finished stitching up the cut, looking over his work for a moment before starting on another jagged gash. "Everything's… fine, I suppose. Things have been getting stranger though, since you left. Sheppard's been having all these strange meetings, patients are acting up…" Sam paused for a moment, brow furrowed in concentration as he nimbly tied off the sutures. "Even the janitor seems way too friendly. But it's fine. Everything's fine." Sam shook his head slightly, going back to taking care of Dean's wounds.

His mind going a mile a minute, Dean closed his eyes again, seizing on the most important piece of information in Sam's explanation. "The janitor. What's he doing?"

Sam frowned at him, undoubtedly wondering why Dean was interested in _that_ , of all things, and scratched the back of his neck. "The janitor? Er, I don't know... Being... the janitor, I suppose. He talks to me every once in a while when I walk past him in the hall. He didn't used to do that, but… Seemed a bit angry with Sheppard for sending you to another institution, though. Not really sure what that's about." Sam shrugged, dismissing the oddity. "I could have been imagining it."

"But _what_ does he talk to you about?" Really getting frustrated now, Dean tried to sit up, battered body protesting the change in altitude, only for his brother to gently push him back down. "Sa- Jared, this is important."

"Why is it important?" Sam cast him a confused glance, tying off the bandage that now covered Dean's left arm up to the bicep and starting to work on the right. "He's just a janitor…"

 _No_ , he _wasn't_ , dammit!

"Because he's-" Taking a deep breath, Dean forced himself to calm down and think of a quick lie. Tact. He had to do this with tact if he didn't want another round as 'Girl, Interrupted.' "Because he's something to talk about other than…" Plastering a vulnerable, shaky look onto his face, Dean allowed his voice to trail off as though he were unable to complete the thought, expertly playing the traumatized civilian. Damn, maybe this was why he was an actor in this world - he was _good._

Yup, his act had definitely had the desired effect. Eyes widening, the bigger man was quick to rest a reassuring hand on Dean's uninjured shoulder. "Whoa, easy there; it's okay, Jensen…" Shaking his head, clearly still confused but unwilling to argue any further, Sam cast around for something to distract Dean. "Um, alright… He, ah, asks about these headaches I've been having, usually. I mentioned those to you, didn't I? He usually wants to know if they're getting any better or not…"

"And are they?" Yeah, maybe he wasn't cut out for the big screen after all. Dean knew from the way the question came out of his mouth that he wasn't able to hide the intense look in his eyes.

Sam glanced down for a second. "Not really…" He looked up again, offering Dean a small smile. "But it's alright, 'kay?"

Dean nodded slowly. No, it wasn't ''kay,' but he wasn't about to say that outright. "Any… any strange visions? Dreams? Maybe feel like, er, memories?"

Oh, yeah, he was really toeing the line now, but Sam didn't seem to notice as he finished with Dean's right arm, moving on to taking care of the cuts on Dean's stomach and chest. "Sometimes… When I actually sleep. The migraines I've been having make it difficult to be able to get to bed, you know?" Ah, so that explained the lighted window he'd seen from the driveway...

Dean forced his tone to be casual but sympathetic. "That sucks, man…" And then once again, he caught his bad acting as his tone abruptly snapped back to that of a hunter scoping out a new job. "So these dreams. What are they about?"

Sam took a deep breath before he spoke, shuddering involuntarily as he forced himself to recall nightmares any sane person would much rather forget. "Monsters… ghosts… Lot of death."

If there was any time he was going to go for this, it might as well be the present. Sam had been having memories come back in dreams; he was openly talking about them, and maybe, just _maybe_ … "Well, thanks for taking care of me…" He looked up then, heart pounding in anticipation as he carefully watched his younger brother's face for the reaction to his next word. " _Sam_."

For a moment, something like either recognition or confusion glinted in Sam's eyes, and Dean let himself hope… and then everything went to hell.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Sam let out an irritated sigh. "...Dean. How long have you had control then?" Sam gave Dean a look, a mixture of annoyance, pity, and hurt clear on his face. "Is this just going to be your new _strategy_? Lie to me, pretend you're Jensen, pretend you're my _friend_ , only to later reveal you're _not_?"

Dean closed his eyes, leaning back and letting himself sink back into the couch's soft cushions. " _Son of a bitch_ …" So much for that idea. Now he was really and truly fucked.

"Let me guess, your theory is that the janitor's the devil, and he's _obviously_ the one causing all these newfound problems, yeah?" Sam snorted, rolling his eyes, but despite his obvious annoyance, he was still fairly gentle as he continued taking care of the wounds that hadn't been treated yet.

Well, there was no going back now, no undoing the damage that had already been done. Sam already knew that he wasn't 'Jensen,' so he'd basically already booked himself a bed back at Deerwater for the rest of the Apocalypse. Without any other good options, Dean decided to push forward. Maybe he could make something come back to his brother… _anything_. "Look, Sam. Those dreams you've been having. It's real. It's all real, okay?" He pushed the other man's carefully probing hands away and struggled to push his body into a sitting position. He needed to look as competent and not-crazy as he could for this. "They _are_ memories. Lucifer _is_ going to try to get inside your head; get you to say yes." Dean shook his head, turning pleading eyes to meet his brothers. "Sam, you have to believe me…"

"Say yes to what? Jensen, what you think is real right now? Isn't. Okay? The world isn't filled with demons and 've _relapsed._ " 'Jared' sighed, disappointment written deeply into every line of his face. "You've just relapsed…"

For god's sake, he didn' have _time_ to be _babied_ like this! They were in the middle of the freaking _Apocalypse_ and Sam's biggest concern was that Dean hadn't taken enough crazy pills. "I haven't freaking _relapsed_ , okay?" Dean shook his head. "I mean, why the hell would I make this up? _Any_ of it? Jared, what's my endgame for tricking you here?"

Sam looked away, studying the first aid kit still propped open on his lap with the intensity of a man who's willing to look anywhere but up. "Jensen… I don't think you're lying to me. Not intentionally, anyway. I realize you think this… this world of monsters and angels is real, but… It's not. And I'm sorry you're hurt but I…" His little brother trailed off, unable to finish whatever it was he was about to say. He shook his head head, reaching up and starting to treat Dean's stabbed shoulder, seizing on the physical injury as a distraction. "Stay still."

His shoulder. Dean suddenly had an idea. He grabbed Sam's hand, forcing it away from the wound so his brother would be forced to look at the ragged, gaping hole in its full, uncensored horror. "See this, Sam? See this shoulder? That wasn't some shrink. That was _Alastair_. A _demon_ , okay? Why would a doctor do that? C'mon, even you have to admit it doesn't make sense."

By Sam's expression, Dean could tell that even his genius brother didn't have a good answer and that his question had hit home, planting some doubts in his mind. "No, it doesn't, but… Psychopaths exist, okay? Just let me take care of your shoulder, Dean."

"They have screening tests for these places, right? How would a psychopath get past those? Come on…" Dean lied back down slowly, seeing a shadow of doubt cross his brother's face, and finally allowing him to start cleaning the wound on his shoulder.

Sam didn't hesitate to start carefully dabbing it with the disinfectant, mumbling, "I don't know."

"Sam," Dean said, keeping his tone firm and trying not to wince as Sam gave him another hypo of anesthetic so he could begin to carefully stitch up the wound. "It was _Alastair_ , okay? He tortured me, just like he did when I was in Hell. Remember that? Remember the deal?"

Sam froze.

"Th-that was just a nightmare," he stammered weakly, letting the bandages he had been holding fall from his hand. "How did you know about that? How did you know about the deal that sent you to…?"

"To _Hell?_ " Dean bit the word out like a curse, shuddering slightly even as he said it. He didn't have time for this shit. He needed to be strong for Sam; he needed to help Sam through this. "Because it _wasn't_ just a nightmare, Sam."I'm sorry, but it was a _memory_. This is real. It sucks; it really sucks, but it's _real_. And it's really trying to kill us."

God, he wanted nothing more than to let his brother stay here in this dream, living naive, happy, and carefree forever. And he would, too… if it wouldn't be condemning Sam and the rest of the world to their fiery deaths. Yeah, his life had officially reached maximum crappiness level. Achievement unlocked.

Sam shook his head, finally finishing with Dean's shoulder. "No. I-I don't… I have a wife, Jensen. I have a _kid_. Who I'm hoping to not wake up right now…" Sam grimaced, reaching up and rubbing his temple slightly before starting to put medical supplies back into the first aid kit, shutting the box with a loud _thunk_ as if hoping he could slam the door on demons, Hell, and bleeding, escaped-mental-patient big brothers he didn't he had.

Alright. So Sam needed more proof first. Dean could get that, as this had to be hard to swallow. He sighed, not really wanting to go over the whole story but knowing he had to if he ever wanted his little brother back. "I made a deal with a crossroads demon because you died. I needed to get you back. Guy named Jake killed you, ex-army. A demon named Azazel kidnapped you, fed you all demon blood and turned you into psychics. Threw you into a 'Hunger Games' fight to the death kinda thing, and you couldn't kill Jake; you tried to let him live. He... wasn't so decent."

It was taking everything Dean had to tell this story, relive these memories. Losing Sam… god, that'd been _worse_ than all those years on the rack, in a way. But this was to get Sam back. _For Sam_ , he reminded himself, steeling his resolve to continue.

'Jared' stood, stepping back, the first-aid kit still in his right hand. "Stop it, Jensen…" His voice wavered, a note of pain creeping in behind the fear.

"How could I know that, huh? How could I _possibly_ know that, unless I lived it?" Headaches were good, right? Headaches meant Sam was fighting 'Jared' out?

The first-aid kit slipped out of Sam's hands, falling to the floor, and his brother put a hand to his head, wincing as the pain grew. "O-ow… Stop. Jensen, cut it out."

Dean winced, hating to see his brother in pain - hating even more knowing that he was the cause. But giving the other man a migraine was a lesser evil than allowing him to become the devil's freaking _meatsuit_. "Sam, c'mon, man… It's Dean. Your big brother. This isn't real, none of it. It's a _trick,_ Lucifer wants you to say yes, to consent to be his vessel... Sam, _please_."

A quick head shake had Sam hissing in pain as the migraine intensified, his sentences coming out more and more fragmented as the pressure behind his eyes worsened. " _Ow_ … No, s-stop it… N-not your brother… _Stop..._ "

The words made something inside Dean's chest crumble, even though he knew Sam didn't mean them as a rejection. "But you _are_ , Sammy…" Dean felt actual tears well up in his eyes as he used the nickname he reserved solely for moments of teasing or emotion, but he blinked them away without even thinking about it. "You're my little brother. You have to remember me…"

"M-my name is _Jared_ …" Sam protested weakly through a wince. "P-please, stop talking. The noise hurts…"

Yeah, right, it was totally the noise. Dean pressed on relentlessly, even though every fiber of his being was screaming at him to stop, just stop it, stop hurting Sammy... "No, Sam, it's good. It means you're getting close to remembering... Come on, come on, man... I need you."

"'S not real. It was never real… Jensen, _stop_." Tears began to well up in his brother's eyes, and Dean was again struck by how _wrong_ this was - Sam didn't cry. This man in front of him _wasn't_ his brother. Not for long, though, if Dean had any say in it.

"I'm not _gonna_ stop 'till you _remember_. My name is Dean Winchester, Sam."

"Just… stop talking so loud," Sam - well, technically 'Jared' - pleaded quietly, sitting down on the edge of a nearby chair.

Dean closed his eyes, unable to watch his baby brother suffer through the pain he was causing. "I can't, Sam, I'm so sorry," he whispered, mostly to himself. Sam was so out of it at this point, he wouldn't have heard anyway.

As expected, Sam didn't respond, rubbing his temples in a futile attempt to ease the pain and letting out what sounded a lot like a small, _whimpering_ noise. Something he hadn't heard come out of his brother's mouth for over a decade.

And at that, Dean couldn't sit still any longer. His brother didn't make that noise lightly, especially not for any normal headache.

Ignoring the screaming pain in his own body, he forced himself off the couch and struggled to his brother's side to perch awkwardly on the edge of the armchair. "It's okay, Sammy... It's okay, I'm here…" Whether Sam remembered it or not, Dean was his big brother, and it was his job to take care of Sam as best he could. And then better. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out to touch the man curled in on himself with pain, rubbing soothing circles into the broad shoulders.

Sam relaxed slightly at the touch, still mumbling a weak protest of, "Not Sammy."

Dean smiled fondly at his little brother's stubbornness that had apparently carried over to 'Jared,' too. "Yeah, you are. You're Sammy. It's _Dean_ , kiddo…"

Sam only shook his head again, and Dean sighed. Said stubbornness wasn't so endearing anymore. "C'mon, Sam... snap outta it... you can do this, you can fight it off, I know you can."

"There's nothing to fight off…" Sam took a deep breath, and Dean could tell that the headache was slowly starting to subside. 'Jared' was winning the battle.

 _No no no_ … he couldn't lose Sam now, he'd been so close… "The _dream,_ Sam, you're in a dream. C'mon, it's your big brother. You trust me, right? I wouldn't lie to you, would I?"

Sam shook his head, pulling away from Dean as he stood, shaking off the last of the memories, and finally seemed to consciously realize what was going on. "Jensen, what do you think you're doing? You should've just stayed where you were. You've got a broken ankle, and what with all of your other wounds, moving around by yourself isn't a good idea. Especially if it's just because I'm having another headache."

Dean swore. "Goddammit, Sam! You were almost there, come on! Don't you remember?" Maybe he wasn't being very _brotherly_ or _compassionate_ , but come on, he'd been so _close…._

"There's nothing to remember, Dean," Sam snapped, just as frustrated. "That was just a migraine, not… memories, alright? Now, if you don't quiet down, you're going to wake my family up, and I really don't want to deal with explaining..." he waved a hand, "this to them after midnight."

And then he realized what staying with 'Jared' was going to mean. "Goddammit… _Ruby_ …"

"...Who?"

He'd spoken aloud. Great. "Never mind…" Dean sighed. "Sam, I'm gonna need you to trust me a little here, okay? When I was admitted to the hospital, did I have a car? Black, a '67 Chevy Impala?"

Sam thought about it for a moment, wracking his memory, and then finally shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Sorry."

Dean let out a low growl. They'd basically taken everything from him. First his brother's memory, and then his car. "Not Baby, too… _dammit_!" He took a deep breath, calming himself. Not the main issue here, Winchester... "Fine, fine…" He would just have to find some other way to get around until this damn spell or other world or whatever was over...

As if sensing his thoughts, 'Jared' let out a long-suffering sigh. "Jensen, I'm not just letting you go off by yourself."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Well I'm not going to Deerwater, and I'm not staying here, so…" This was the only option.

There was a long pause where Sam seemed to be deciding something and then another sigh. "...Yes, you are, apparently."

Dean looked at him with confusion, blinking. "But Ru- I mean, what about your family?"

Sam shrugged. "I'll… figure out an explanation. You can stay in our guest room for now, at least until we get everything straightened out."

The offer was unexpected. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting Sam to do, but telling him he could stay wasn't it. Truthfully, he figured that 'Jared' would want Dean out of his hair asap. Still, Dean wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. "...Alright. Thanks, Sam."

"Not like I'm getting any sleep tonight anyway…" Sam chuckled a bit. "And it's been a while since my wife gave me a lecture for doing something she considers stupid. I think I'm overdue."

Dean smiled a little, glancing up at the clock. It was almost three a.m., and he frowned as another thought struck him. "When's your next shift at the hospital?"

"Tomo- no, _this_ morning. Starting at six-thirty." 'Jared' glanced up at the clock himself and groaned, rubbing a hand over his face wearily. "Well, long as we're up, you want some coffee or something? It's been an… interesting night."

"Coffee sounds great," Dean nodded. "And er, thanks. For letting me stay. Even if you think I'm bonkers, you're giving me that much."

"What else was I supposed to do?"

Dean didn't want to think too hard about if Sam was being partially serious, and he couldn't help but smile a little at the look on Sam's face. This couldn't be easy for him, either, but his bleeding-heart baby brother just couldn't say no to a guy in need.

"Still. Thanks." He smiled softly. "'S just what Sam would do."

Sam shrugged a bit. "May not be your brother, but…" He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Anyway, I'm going to go make some coffee, and uh, grab you a shirt, alright? Be right back."

Dean watched as his brother left the room, smiling as the sasquatch had to duck his head a little as he entered his own kitchen. "But you _are_ , Sam," he murmured softly to no one in particular. "Even if you don't totally remember yet, you haven't forgotten yourself. I know you haven't. And I'm gonna get you back."

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 **We hope you enjoyed this chapter, and if you did, be sure to leave us a review! See you all again next week, per usual! -Mimzy and Pixie**


	10. Liar

**Hey, everyone! First off, we'd like to give y'all a HUGE sorry for this coming up a day late! But it is here, and this story is far from abandoned, never fear. You can expect regular Tuesday updates from now on. The good news is that this chapter's a bit long to make up for it! Whoop!**

 **Warnings: Foul language, brief mentions of skipping meals (although not for eating disorder purposes).**

 **Disclaimer: We do not own** _ **Supernatural**_

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" **Liar" - Queen**

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Dean swirled the dregs of his coffee in his mug, holding it pressed between his palms to keep some of the residual warmth in. He'd already drank two cups of the stuff previously, but it didn't help wake him up much and he wasn't about to fall asleep with _Ruby_ stalking around the house somewhere. 'Jared' had already gone off to work, despite Dean's protests, and he honestly didn't know what he was supposed to do now. When you're beaten bloody in your sort-of-but-not-really amnesiac brother's house with an already dead demon roaming around… Well, he didn't quite know how to handle the situation, but he suspected falling asleep wasn't part of it.

The door from behind him creaked open, and he stood on his good leg as quickly as his injuries allowed him to, turning around to face whatever attacker should appear. However, instead of Ruby or some other obvious threat, a small boy stood in the doorway, looking up at Dean with curiosity shining in his hazel eyes.

Dean figured this must be 'Scott,' and, damn, the resemblance between the kid and Sam was uncanny. Sam had looked suspiciously similar to the boy in front of him at that age. Still, he glared at the kid, almost mumbling a quiet 'Christo' under his breath before it came back to him that it wouldn't tell him anything, not in this wacko universe. Sam didn't have a kid, so whatever was in front of him… Dean doubted that it was exactly what it seemed to be: an innocent six-year-old boy.

To the kid's credit - or maybe against it, Dean wasn't quite sure which - he didn't flinch back from the tall, solidly built, and still slightly bloody stranger in his living room. Gripping a stuffed dog tightly in one hand, the boy waved shyly with the other. And God help him, Dean couldn't help but wave back.

"'M Scott," the kid informed him, clearly more relaxed with the 'greeting' out of the way. Obviously Dean wasn't a threat - he'd waved back, after all. Scott gave him a bright smile, practically beaming with innocence. "What's your name?"

Dean gave the boy a quick once-over before answering. 'Jared' would probably introduce him as 'Jensen,' would probably want him to introduce _himself_ as Jensen, but… screw 'Jared.' If this kid was a demon, he wanted it to know that he was aware; that he knew what was going on.

"Dean Winchester," he stated simply, watching the boy closely for his reaction. But there was none, besides an even wider and still innocent grin.

Looking at the small boy in front of him, it finally hit Dean that this might be a real child. Lucifer'd managed to totally remove Sam's memories and stuff his head full of fake ones. Dean wouldn't put it past him to knock some kid unfortunate enough to look like Sam out, and stick him in the dream world as well. The boy didn't certainly didn't behave like a demon would.

He swore loudly. This made things even more difficult with an actual kid in the middle of things…

The kid - 'Scott' - stared up at him, eyes wide. " _Dean!_ You said a bad…"

"I know what I said." Dean cut him off, rolling his eyes and just barely biting back another curse. Jeez, if he wanted Jared to kick him out, he was off to an _awesome_ start.

"Dad says you shouldn't say that," Scott told him scoldingly, as if Dean didn't already know that it had been a swear word.

Dean let out a snort, "Well, it's just gonna have to be our little secret then, isn't it?" He winked at the kid before tensing as he heard the floorboard creak from behind him. He turned quickly, coming face to face with Mrs. Winchester herself - _Ruby_.

He cursed again loudly, currently not caring that there was a small child in the room.

Ruby rushed over and picked Scott up, eyeing Dean warily. "You must be the 'unexpected company' my husband mentioned in the note he left on our bed this morning..."

So this was how she was going to play it - pretend to know nothing about what was actually going on, and act like she actually was the perfect little housewife. Oh, Dean was just gonna be sick.

"You can drop the act, Ruby. Sam ain't here, in case you didn't notice." He glared at her, itching to fix the current problem of her being alive again - permanently, this time.

"What act?" Ruby gave him a confused look, clutching her 'son' tighter. "My name is _Jess_ , not… not _Ruby_!"

And that's when Dean no longer wanted to _just_ kill her. He wanted to kill her slowly and painfully - make her pay for every single thing she ever did, and _especially_ for going by 'Jess.' He knew the significance of that name, and as Sam wasn't in his right mind to be outraged about Ruby calling herself that, Dean took it upon himself to be outraged in his brother's place.

Sam had literally been given everything he'd ever wanted - a normal life with a house, a steady job, an adorable kid... and _Jess_. How was Dean supposed to make Sam remember his real life? Hell, his brother wouldn't _want_ to, and Dean honestly couldn't blame him. As much as it hurt to admit, Alastair might have been right about what he'd said about the subject - or at least partially.

But years of dealing with the sadistic sons of bitches known as demons gave Dean the strength he needed to push all that aside for the moment and plaster a smirk on his face. "Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you say. Why don't you send Junior here upstairs so the grown-ups can talk?"

And that's when Ruby finally decided to drop the scared mother act, smirking just slightly as she put Scott down. "How about you go to your room and play, hmm, sweetie? Just for a little bit while Mommy and Dean chat."

Scott nodded, reaching up to give her a kiss on the cheek (Dean managed to restrain himself from ripping the kid away from 'Mommy') before scrambling up the stairs like some sort of overgrown monkey.

And then Dean was alone in the room with a demon he was sure he and Sam had killed. Could this week get any worse?

… Probably, but he didn't want to think about that right now.

Ruby smirked at him, placing a hand on her hip. "Miss me?"

"Oh, like _hell_ , bitch." Dean backed up slowly - and painfully, he might add - until he was leaning against the kitchen counter, fumbling for the salt. "Jess, huh? You got a lotta nerve going with that name. Once Sam remembers, he's gonna make you pay. Big time."

"Once? More like _if_." Ruby grinned. "He seems pretty happy as Jared. Trust me, I would know. I've been with him in both worlds, remember?"

Dean scowled, gritting his teeth. He knew she was trying to get under his skin, he knew she was playing head games with him, but damn it all, it was working.

Ruby laughed, picking up on the silent threat sent her direction via glare. "Oh, what are you going to do, hm? You can't hurt me, Dean. Lay one finger on me and… Well, how do you think your brother is going to respond in his current state? Really, I've found that killing someone's _wife_ doesn't do much for making friends."

She had him there. If Dean wanted Sam to remember, he had to stay in 'Jared's' good graces. Ridding the house from demon filth probably wouldn't go over well, at the moment, considering Sam didn't even know demons were real. And exorcism was apparently out of the question. Dean had been forced into a corner - his only option was to keep up the pretense for 'Jared.' But that didn't mean he was going to be defenseless.

He finally found the salt, grabbing it and holding it out in front of his body defensively as Ruby took a step closer, still smirking the whole time. "Stop right there."

Amusement flickered in Ruby's eyes - as if she knew something that he didn't, and shit, that was never good - but she stepped back anyway and put her hands up in defense."So you gonna use that, hotshot, or are you gonna go grab the sugar and flour and whip me up a batch of cookies?"

Dean let out a low growl, stumbling backwards with the makeshift crutch Jared had loaned him towards the small guest room he'd been allowed to use for the time being. "You keep mouthing off like that, bitch, maybe I _will_ use it."

Maybe after all of this was fixed - Ruby and Alastair dead again, Sam back to normal - maybe then this whole ordeal with his brother marrying Ruby might be just a little funny. It was certainly material to tease him with for days. However, currently, Dean was having a hard time seeing the humor in the situation.

"We'll see about that, Jensen," Ruby smirked again. "If you want any chance of saving your brother, you do need to stay around him, and… ah… out of jail, if you can help it."

Dammit, he _hated_ when demons had a point. "Well, you just stay away from me... " he quickly started a salt line across the guest room threshold, "...and I won't kill you in your sleep. Just yet."

Dean considered upping his demands, asking for the kid - Scott - too in order to ensure his safety, but he still wasn't entirely sure the kid was what he seemed to be. And besides, Ruby was in the same spot as he was. If she did anything to hurt Scott, she'd have a helluva lot of explaining to do to Jared.

Finishing the salt line, he straightened up, cracking his neck and glaring, satisfied, at Ruby. "Line in the sand, bitch. Try it. I dare you." For the first time since he'd woken up in wacko-world, Dean finally had some sort of hold on the situation - and he wasn't letting go of it anytime soon.

But the demon just laughed as if Dean were an amusing puppy and shook her head. "Maybe later I'll take you up on that offer, Dean-o. But for now, I think I'm going to make a call." She chuckled again. "Jared and I always talk over his morning break. It's really _sweet_."

Dean fought down the sick, hot rage that bubbled inside him, blurring his vision and clouding his judgement as 'Jess' sauntered across the kitchen and cheerfully picked up the receiver, playing with a loose thread on the tablecloth. His hands were tied, for now. So painstakingly, he forced himself to close the door on the rest of the house, shutting Ruby out of mind for the moment as he moved on to salting the windows and other doors in the room. He would get up defenses, and he'd come up with some sort of a plan. And when the time came for him to fight? He'd be prepared.

* * *

Jared parked his car after he got home from work, getting out and shutting the door as quietly as he could manage. He leaned against the car for a brief moment, rubbing his temple and wincing as yet another migraine shot through his skull.

He'd given Jess a slightly more detailed explanation for Jensen being there when she went downstairs when she'd called earlier, though she'd said it would be better to just tell her in person and to wait until after work.

Basically, he still had a lot of explaining to do if he didn't want to sleep on the couch for the next four weeks.

He inhaled slowly, then let the breath out and walked to the door, opening it. Jess hadn't sounded too angry on the phone, so maybe he had a chance.

However, if he'd been hoping for a warm, understanding welcome, he was sorely mistaken.

Jess was waiting for him only a few feet from the door, a deceivingly sweet smile on her face that killed any optimism Jared had secretly been harboring in a second flat." _Hey, honey_ , how was work?" She cast him a meaningful look and raised an eyebrow.

Jared let out a short, nervous laugh. "Jess, sweetheart…" Judging by his wife's expression, the pet name wasn't getting him anywhere. He sighed. "I swear, I can explain that…"

He really didn't have much in the way of an explanation, though, if he was being perfectly honest. _It had seemed like the best idea late last night when he showed up half-dead and I was caught somewhere between sleep and pure panic_? Yeah, that'd fly.

Jess raised an eyebrow. "I'm waiting." After a few seconds of Jared silently trying to figure out a way to tell her everything without her hitting him upside the head, she sighed, prompting, "You said he used to be a patient? You know, at the _mental institutio_ n you work at."

Well, when she put it like _that_ … "He's an… old friend," Jared finally said, actually almost embarrassed it had taken him so long to come up with the simple cover. "...And an old patient, but let's try to concentrate on the friend part. Popped in last night; needed help. I mean, you said you saw him, the guy's dead on his feet." A thought popped into his mind, giving him pause. "...He hasn't been giving you much trouble, has he?"

His wife just scoffed at that, rolling her eyes. "No major damage, but…." Jess looked him in the eye. "Jared, seriously. who _is_ this guy?"

Yes, this was going well. "...I told you about Jensen, didn't I?"

Jared inwardly cringed as he waited for the response, and true to form, Jess didn't let him down. "Your delusional not-brother?"

Damn, his wife was _good_ at the flat, are-you-freaking-kidding-me tone. Jared grimaced but tried to pass it off as an awkward but disarming smile. "Yeah… Um… Look, about that... Someone at the state institution hurt him, Jess. Badly. You saw the shape he's in. He doesn't want to go back to Deerwater, I can't really blame him, and I'm starting to think that might be a bad idea anyway. The higher-ups might think he got his injuries somewhere else, and send him back to state." After a pause, Jared sighed and elaborated. "He may be a bit out there, but he's not a liar, alright? Him being here...It's temporary. Just until I figure out what to do about this whole mess."

Jess's undying compassion for people finally took over as her eyes widened in shock - and Jared could only hope at least some of that leftover compassion would be aimed at him at the end of the conversation. "Someone _did_ that to him?" She blinked once, and he could tell she was having a difficult time comprehending the situation. Not that he could blame her. "Like…"

No way was Jared going to let her just flounder around until she got up the nerve to say it aloud. They both knew what had happened at a supposed place of healing… neither of them wanted to actually hear it. He shuddered slightly at the thought before speaking again. "Apparently one of the doctors is a psychopath and on the lookout to get him back. Which I also need to figure out how to handle…" God, this was such a mess.

" _Oh, God_ …" Jess whispered, shaking her head before she grabbed his shoulders, looking up at him with wide eyes. "Jared, you have to call the cops! What about the other patients there? That man should be arrested; he should be…" Jess paused, abruptly changing the subject. "Wait, I thought you said Jensen was better?"

Jared winced visibly. "He was, for a bit… Apparently he's relapsed." Looking around, Jared wondered for the first time since he'd gotten home where Jensen actually _was_ … until his gaze lit on the closed guestroom door. "Did you… did you _lock_ him in there, or is he just... resting or something?" Oh, God, he knew the answer. _Dammit_.

"He's barricaded himself in," Jess scoffed quietly, shaking her head. "Took the salt with him, as well as a jug of water and a rosary. He's _protecting_ himself from me." His wife rolled her eyes, letting out a soft sigh. "Apparently I'm some sort of demon now."

"Ah." That explained it… Oh- his wife was waiting for something- "Sorry." Apparently the apology fell a little flat, because her look didn't soften, but really? She could deal.

Jared walked over and knocked lightly on the guestroom door, not wanting to startle his already weak and skittish friend in case he was actually - heaven forbid - _resting_ or something. "Hey, Jensen? You in there?"

A voice came back, slightly muffled but adamant. "Not coming out 'til 'black-eyes' there is gone!"

Jess rolled her eyes again at Jensen's response. "I'll be upstairs, then. Scott's playing in his room; I got him to stay away."

"Yeah, thanks, sweetheart…" Jared mumbled, rubbing his face. Guess the days of coming home from work and getting a break were over, then. He turned back to the closed door, feeling exceedingly helpless. "My wife is _not_ a demon, Jensen!"

After a few moments, the door finally opened to reveal a tired-looking Jensen, frowning and leaning on one of the crutches Jared had managed to find for him, the other one leaned against the wall a few inches away. "Then why couldn't she cross the salt line, huh?" Jensen shook his head, obviously exasperated with the whole situation. "I am not helping my case for 'not nuts,' am I?"

Jared rolled his eyes. At least he realized that... That was good, right? "No, you're not… And maybe she didn't _want_ to cross the stupid line of salt, hmm? Come on, Jensen. Be reasonable. Come outta there."

The other man seemed to consider for a long moment. And then just when Jared was sure he was about to have a door slammed in his face… "Fine." Slowly, Jensen pushed the door fully open, hobbling out cautiously. "Just keep that bitch away from me, or I'll give her another kind of black eye."

At that, Jared's face went serious, and he had to push down the urge to sock the other man in the jaw at the threat. _That_ wasn't something he'd thought he had to worry about. "Don't you _dare_ hurt her, Jensen. You don't even _think_ about touching my family, you get that?"

Jensen paused, taking in the warning, before promptly dismissing it. "I'm fully willing to leave - right here, right now. And I won't hurt her if she doesn't try to hurt either one of us." And there it was… 'Dean's' paranoia, and his tendency to either think that whomever he met was a monster, or family.

"She's not going to try to hurt anyone, Jensen!" Jared snapped. "Why can't you get that through your head?!"

'Dean' scoffed. "Yeah, you trusted her last time, too, and look how that turned out. Just let me prove-"

"No!" Jared clenched his jaw. Alright, so he hadn't meant to shout - he had to keep cool. If he couldn't, how could he expect Jensen to? More carefully, he continued. "Jensen, I am trying to be patient with you here, but she's my _wife_. She's not evil, and she's not a killer… She's a nice person, a hard-working actress, and the mother of my son."

Jensen shot him a glare, obviously not buying it. "Sam, goddammit! You were so close last night, and now…" He let out a low, frustrated grunt. "Look, just let me prove—"

And then, because he had the worst luck in the world, Jess chose that moment to come downstairs. "It's alright, Jared," she softly assured him with a small smile. "If it makes him feel more comfortable…" Her tone changed as she turned to face Jensen, who was still trying to murder her with a look, becoming slow and cautious. "What are you going to do, Jensen?"

God, what did he do to deserve this… Jensen was about to flip. "Jensen, just calm down…"

But Jensen ignored him completely, completely focused on watching Jess suspiciously. "What game are you working, lady?"

His wife shook her head, and he couldn't help but admire her patience. "No 'game.' What can I do to prove I'm human? I want you to feel safe here." There were times like these when Jared was almost sure Jess was actually an angel. Before he met her, he didn't think it was possible for any woman to be as kind and understanding as she could be when she wanted to. Jared had known he loved her for a reason.

Jensen gestured at the salt line across the guestroom doorway, raising a challenging eyebrow. "Cross it. Walk across the line."

"Really, Jensen?" Can't you just…" Jared sighed, frowning. "She's my wife. Is this seriously necessary?"

"Sam, you'll see. She won't be able to deliver." 'Dean' crossed his arms, smirking confidently. "Check and mate, bi-"

Before he could finish the insult, Jess walked over and easily stepped over the threshold to the room, crossing 'Dean's' salt line with no problem. Jared let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Yeah, he'd _known_ he wasn't married to a demon, but... somehow, some little part of his mind relaxed at seeing Jess pass the simple - and stupid, really - test.

Jared gave Jensen a look. "You were saying? Come on, Jensen. Just… drop it, okay?"

Jensen's eyes widened and he started stuttering in confusion. "N-no... _how_? Y-you're…You're a demon!" Jensen shook his head and muttered to himself under his breath, too quiet for Jared to hear anything other than a few mumbled words like 'exorcism,' 'rules,' and 'Lucifer.'

This was bad - Jared had thought indulging Jensen long enough to prove his delusions false would be _helpful_ , but it only seemed to have made it worse. He had to snap out of it. "Jensen, come on. Look, I get that you think that this is all real, but I'd really _appreciate_ it if you didn't call my _wife_ a demon!"

It wasn't that he didn't get where Jensen was coming from. 'Dean' sincerely thought that Jared was related to him and that Jess was a monster, so his behavior was somewhat understandable. Sure, Jared knew that if Jensen currently wasn't under the impression that Jess was a psychopath, his behavior would be very different. But Jared really only had so much patience when it came to people insulting his family.

Jensen seemed to calm down a bit, looking at Jess with a small scowl. "Sorry, bi—Ruby" .

Jared sighed in annoyance. Ruby, huh? "Her name's Jess."

Something akin to pity flashed in Jensen's eyes, as if there was something important behind the name that only he knew, before it was replaced with the same level of annoyance as before. An obviously fake smile grew on Jensen's face as he turned back to Jess. "Sorry, _Jessie_."

Jess put a gentle hand on his arm before he could say anything about the nickname, whispering, "It's close enough, just leave it." Sympathy shone in her eyes as she glanced at Jensen, and once again, Jared could only wonder at her amazing understanding and care. Though he supposed that the fact Jensen had been tortured probably helped his case a bit.

Jared only wished that his wife could be that understanding when he'd accidentally forgotten their anniversary, instead of giving him a dirty look and the silent treatment.

He sighed, letting Jensen's comment pass, before a thought struck him. "Jensen, when's the last time you ate anything?" Jared had told him to help himself to whatever was in the fridge, but if Jensen had locked himself in the guest room the moment he saw Jess, there was a good chance the man hadn't eaten anything since he got there.

The man in front of him frowned slightly. "Ah... I guess it was…" 'Dean's' frown deepened, and Jared already knew the man didn't really know. Jared guessed that that was probably because Jensen had been in his right mind for some of it. Jensen stopped talking, obviously trying to mentally add up how long it'd been since he remembered eating.

Jared just sighed. Sometimes he hated being right. "Alright, then. Jensen, you need to eat something. Come on, let's… let's get you fed." He might not have any clue on how to handle this situation, but he knew that whatever he did, getting some actual food into Jensen should be at the top of the list.

Jensen gave Jess another wary look before he hobbled into the kitchen, Jared and Jess following.. The look clearly wasn't lost on his wife, who sighed wearily. "Jensen... we just want to help, okay?" At this, the injured man scowled but kept his mouth shut.

Jared shook his head and opened the fridge door, starting to rummage through it. "Anything specific you want?"

"Don't really care," Jensen answered, before saying something to Jess that Jared couldn't really hear. Fantastic.

"My _part in this_ is to help Jared figure out what to do about what's going on at the state institution," he heard his wife answer, and he smiled slightly to himself, proud of how well she was adapting to having Jensen around. Anyone else would have been out of their mind with the constant accusations by now. "He's the _real_ demon, Jensen."

Jared grabbed the ham and cheese out of the fridge, as well as the mayonnaise, figuring that a sandwich was probably the best option for now. Setting the ingredients down on the counter and grabbing the bread from the cupboard, he glanced at Jensen and Jess, listening to what he could hear of their conversation.

"Yeah, he was," Jensen agreed, his voice only a little above a growl. "Alastair. The one who tortured me in Hell." He lowered his voice, clearly not wanting Jared to overhear, but dammit, this was his wife - he needed to know what Jensen was saying to her. "While you were fixing Sam up on _demon blood_."

What? In Jensen's fantasy world, _he_ was Sam… so what was this about demon blood? He winced as his head twinged, pushing the thought away. It was rambling. Jensen had a problem, that was all. He shouldn't let himself get sucked into it, whether his delusions involved his wife being a demon or not.

He could hear Jess let out a quiet sigh, and he knew that she was shaking her head in sympathy, even though he had his back turned towards her. "That must have been _terrible_."

Jared finished building the sandwich, setting the plate in front of Jensen before sitting down next to Jess.

Jensen gave Jess a thin smile, before turning to Jared. "Thanks, Sa—" He stopped, shaking his head. "Jared."

Jess practically beamed as Jensen got his name right. " _Good_ , Jensen!" she praised, making Jared swear mentally. His wife might be the most caring woman he knew, but she was by no means a mental health professional. The patients weren't children, and they didn't like to be treated that way. 'Dean' was going to flip out.

He wasn't mistaken. Jensen shot her a glare, before looking at him. "Jared, would you mind telling your wife the rules about speaking to me like I'm five?" The man purposefully spoke slow and drawn out, mimicking Jess's patronizing tone.

Jared just sighed. "Jess, er… Would you mind...?" He winced as her eyes widened a little and she stood up. "...Sorry."

Jess nodded, and Jared couldn't help but feel relieved that she hadn't been too offended about him correcting her. He knew she hadn't been meaning any harm - she was just stressed and didn't know how to handle the situation - but both Jensen and 'Dean' were adults. Jess sighed. "No problem. _Sorry._ " She patted Jensen's shoulder gently - definitely the wrong move - before walking out, Jensen watching her warily the whole way.

Jared sighed, looking at him. "How are you feeling?"

Shrugging with a mouthful of food, Jensen took some time to respond, understandable due to the fact he was trying to inhale his sandwich. "Better now," he nodded. "I actually forgot I hadn't eaten…" With a wry half smile and a grim chuckle, he grabbed his sandwich again. "Guess torture does that to you."

Jared glanced down. How could Jensen sound so calm about that? And how the hell was he supposed to respond? "I suppose…"

"Right. 'Not Sam.'" 'Dean' remembered, shaking his head. "We would joke about stuff like that sometimes. Make shit easier. Sorta like a 'if you don't laugh, you're gonna cry' kinda thing. Not much time for crying in our lives."

Jared only nodded, once again totally lost on how to respond. "That… makes sense," he tried, because it kinda did, in a weird way.

Jensen nodded a little. "Now, I got no one to laugh with about all this 'til you snap outta it, so…" He shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, but Jared could see the hurt shining in his eyes and he immediately changed the subject. "How was work?"

"Busy," Jared shrugged. "Dr. Sheppard was gone for a few hours in some meeting again, but that's been happening more often these days." He paused for a moment. "He suggested today that I should take a few days off what with having migraines and all. Not like I could afford to do that though." Jared shook his head. "Other than that… just normal. Busy, but normal."

"You might wanna consider it," Jensen told him, frowning in concern. "Even if you don't believe me about Lucifer, it can't be fun going to work on no sleep when you feel like crap."

"Not like I'd get much sleep even if I stayed here," Jared scoffed lightly, rubbing his temples. "It's fine. I'm dealing with it."

Jensen rolled his eyes. "Of _course_ you are, you stubborn…" He rubbed a hand over his face, sighing. "Did you flirt with the janitor today?"

Flirt? Really? Jared shot him a disapproving look. "No, I did not 'flirt' with the janitor."

"Good," Jensen nodded, seemingly having not noticed the look sent in his direction. "So, did you decide what your course of action about this whole thing's gonna be yet?"

And there was the big question, wasn't it? Jared sincerely wished he had an answer to offer, but instead all he could do was rub at his eyes. "No, I still… don't know what I'm going to do about this."

"So looks like Jessie and I are in for a little 'bonding time' then." Jensen snorted, before noticing Jared's unamused expression. "I won't freak out, I promise. Just…" he sighed. " _Dammit_ , Sammy! All the women in the world, and you go for _her_?"

"There wasn't any reason not to," Jared told him. "She's not a monster, alright? Yeah, she's stressed right now, but I can't frankly blame her."

Jensen frowned. "Yeah, well, she's not the one teaming up with a demon to keep their amnesiac brother from agreeing unknowingly to end the world, all the while having to live with a turncoat demon watching their every move."

Jared let out a sigh. "Jensen…"

"Look, I know you don't believe me, okay? But just…" The man looked down, shaking his head slightly before meeting Jared's eyes again. "Just cut me some slack here. Even if you won't listen, you should at least get that it's real to me."

And that was where Jensen was wrong. Jared understood perfectly; he just couldn't afford support any of 'Dean's' beliefs. It was only harmful for him in the long run. Now the only problem was how to explain that to 'Dean' without coming off as the world's biggest jerk.

"I know it's real to you, _Jensen_ …" Jared started cautiously, stressing his friend's real name. "I just… I don't want to have to pick a side between you and my wife. Because I'm sort of obligated to take hers. I know this is all very hard for you but… It's hard for me too. I know I haven't exactly been doing a good job of handling this, and I'm sorry, okay?"

Jensen pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. "I _can_ leave, y'know. I get that you don't need to-"

"I don't want you to," Jared quickly cut him off. "I can't let you leave without knowing you'll be fine. And I know you'll say you will be, but… I tried telling myself you'd be fine while at the state institution, and look how that turned out." He swallowed hard, a guilty lump rising in his throat. If he'd listened to his gut more...

A hard voice cut into his thoughts. "Yeah, but this time I'll be ready to fight if I have to."

The look Jared saw on Jensen's- no, ' _Dean's_ ' face sent chills down his spine. He had no doubt that 'Dean' would be able to kill, if it came down to it. His voice wavered slightly. " _J-Jensen…_ "

"What, so you think I s _houldn't_ have fought the demon that did this to me?" 'Dean' (because Jared really couldn't look at the cold, hardened man in front of him and see Jensen Ackles) snorted, rolling his eyes.

Not knowing how to reply, Jared did what he did best in situations like this: became a stuttering mess. "I didn't… I don't… I… That's not what…" He always did have a way with words.

'Dean,' however, seemed to be having no such problems finding the words he wanted as he leaned over the table, getting about two feet, tops, away from Jared's face. "Demons are real, Sam. No random psycho could do this." He gestured to the bandages winding their way all the way from his wrists to his biceps. "You saw these cuts. You saw how they didn't nick a single major vein? Alastair's had centuries of practice. He's _good_ at his job."

Jared shook his head, looking down. A doctor with a large amount of knowledge on human anatomy would be able to avoid arteries as well, but he decided to stow that counter argument for later. "Jensen… You haven't had your medication in a very long time."

Jensen's alter ego shook his head, gesturing to the bandages again. "Will it make these go away? This is real, Sam, don't deny it."

"It wasn't a demon who did that to you, Jensen. I can't support what you think is real." He really couldn't. Not only was it an irrational idea to do so, it was completely against his training.

'Dean' just looked at him. "What else _would_?"

He really didn't have a good answer for that. A psycho, a sadist, apparently a psychiatrist? But apparently there was no reasoning with 'Dean.' He would have to go with just the pure facts. "Just… I can't believe you, Jensen. What you're saying… It isn't real. I know you think it is, but… it isn't. You _know_ this." Jared was basically pleading with his friend to understand, to throw 'Dean' off and come back to him, if just for a few minutes so he could be sure Jensen was still in there somewhere. He looked down, sighing as he remembered whose fault this all was. "And I'm sorry, because I know I haven't been helping at all - with anything, and I got you into this in the first place… I really am sorry, okay?"

He was just trying to _help_ right now. However, nothing he said or did seemed to be very helpful.

Jensen sighed, rubbed his face. There was a long pause before he said anything, and then finally: "No, Sam, you're right. You aren't helping, just... just not like you think."

Whatever that was supposed to mean, Jared assumed it tied into Jensen's delusion. And that only made him feel worse about this whole situation. "I'm sorry," he repeated sadly, looking down at the polished wood of the table. "I just… I don't know what to do here."

"You and me both, dude," Jensen muttered under his breath before eventually shaking his head and changing the conversation. "What was the last dream you had? Tell me everything. Describe it."

Well, that was… random… A sudden pain shot through Jared's temples and he couldn't help a slight wince. Despite his better judgement, he found himself speaking. "I… I don't remember all of it, but… Basically, you died. You'd made this… stupid deal and… you died." God, that dream had been horrible. He'd woken up shaky and sweating and with a name almost on his lips- ' _De-'_ He'd shrugged it off as too much stress, gone downstairs… then the _real_ nightmare had begun with a knock on the door.

"Yeah, with a crossroads demon, right?" 'Dean' was staring at him with an intensity that almost made him flinch back, but he just furrowed his brow, still trying to massage the pain away.

How did he…? Jared didn't remember enough of it to know if that's what it actually had been, but for some reason that sounded right. "Something like that, yeah…"

The patient nodded, gesturing for him to continue. "What happened after that?"

Jared just shrugged. "You, ah, died. I couldn't see what killed you. That's it."

Jensen chuckled grimly, nodding as if he remembered it - which was impossible. Right? "Yeah. Yeah, Sam, that's called a Hellhound. Nasty sons of bitches. Scooby Doo's invisible to all but demons." He paused, considering. "And whoever's about to be lunch."

"It…was just a dream, Jensen. Had to be," Jared mumbled. It had to be. There _was_ no other alternative. 'Dean' had discussed dozens of his theories with Jared at Deerwater. Chances are, they'd just made it into his subconscious and Jensen's other personality had just been able to make a guess.

The other man nodded seriously, but Jared knew there was going to be some sort of sarcastic remark. "Yeah. Course it was. A dream I just... y'know, airlifted right outta your mind." Aaaand there it was.

"Well, you're not dead, Jensen." A surge of relief washed over Jared as he found something more concrete, something that 'Dean' wouldn't be able to counter."So, pretty sure it didn't happen. And yeah, not sure how you're guessing all of this, but you're alive. Kinda proves that the whole 'deal' thing didn't really happen."

"I _was_ dead." A chuckle. "Past tense."

Jared just sighed. It was actually terrifying how far back into his delusions Jensen's trauma at the state institute had sent him. "People don't just come back to life, Jensen. World doesn't work that way."

"So why'd I make that 'dumbass' deal in the first place, huh?" Jensen shook his head. "You were _dead,_ Sam." A dark look passed over his face, showing that 'Dean' wasn't very fond of the supposed 'memory.'

"...What?"

Patiently, as if he were explaining the concept to a small child - and he yelled at _Jared_ for doing just that - Jensen tried again."You came back. So did I." He paused then, seeming to consider. "I've taken the plunge a whole lotta times, actually."

So apparently that was how ' _Dean's_ ' world worked. Jared closed his eyes, trying once more to reach out to his friend, to make him see sense. He _knew_ Jensen was in there… "You're not making any sense, Jensen."

And nothing. Of course. 'Dean' raised an eyebrow. "Why on _earth_ would a dude make a deal to go to _Hell_?"

"That wasn't real," Jared said flatly. He was so done with this whole ordeal.

Jensen rolled his eyes. "In the dream, then. The name Azazel mean anything to you?"

"Not really."

The man let out a rather colorful swear word, scowling. "They musta re-dosed you today... You remembered most of this all last night."

Jared quirked an eyebrow. "Re-dosed? You think they're drugging me?" He let out a sigh. "Why would that name be familiar to me? No parent in their right mind would name someone that."

" _Dammit!_ " Jensen swore, slamming his fist down on the table - Jared hoped not loud enough for Scott to hear. "They really got you good."

"Whoa, calm down," Jared frowned. "I'm not being drugged or anything."

Jensen snorted. "Course you're not. 'Cause that's the craziest thing I've said so far." Jensen shook his head, mumbling to himself, "But how's Lucifer doing it…?"

And there was his long-lasting Satan theory again. Jared shook his head. "Look, the only thing I've taken from the janitor was a pain-killer over a week ago. He's not doing anything."

Jensen mumbled something about 'Ruby' - the same name he'd called Jess earlier, and he frowned, seeming lost in thought. He suddenly letting out a low growl. "How the hell is that bitch doing it?"

And once again there was that urge to hit the guy again. "Don't call my wife that. I know that's who you were referring to."

'Dean' looked up, anger burning in his eyes. "She's doing something to you, Sammy, and I'm not gonna let her get away with it!"

Jared took a deep breath. At least one of them needed to keep their cool. "She's not doing anything to me, okay? Calm down."

"I'm not gonna _calm down_ when someone's hurting my br-" Jensen stopped himself before he could continue, taking deep breaths to calm down.

Jared could see that the guy was struggling and he couldn't hold back a sympathetic look aimed in Jensen's direction. "The only person who's been hurt here is you, okay? You don't have to worry about my own wife drugging me."

Jensen noticed the look, scowling as all attempts to calm down failed. "Don't feel _sorry_ for me, goddammit! You're the one who's a demon's bitch!"

Jared sat up a bit straighter, frowning slightly. " I'm not pitying you, Jensen. You're not a kid. I'm… trying to help, but apparently I'm really bad at that."

"I don't need _help_." 'Dean' spat. But then something in his face changed, softening, becoming… desperate. Longing for his brother to come back probably in the same way Jared longed for _his_ friend. "I need you to... to _remember_." The man's voice cracked, and he turned his head away to hide what Jared strongly suspected were tears.

He swore mentally and sighed. He was trying to let the guy down easy and it just wasn't working. "Jensen… I can't remember what never happened."

"It's the drugs," Jensen pleaded. "I swear, I _swear_ I'm telling the truth. _Please_ , Sammy… Please, you gotta trust me."

"Jensen, come on... They didn't wipe my memory, okay? I was just really tired and stressed. Still am. No one's messing with my head." Jared couldn't help but be sympathetic at the sound of the pain in 'Dean's' voice. Sam was real to him, at the very least, and it was clear the guy was really suffering. But the only way Jared could take Jensen's pain away was by reminding him that he had nothing to miss - not by pretending to be 'Sam Winchester.'

"Of _course_ they'd make you think that," Jensen scoffed. "If I can just figure out how... or at least what the drug's half-life is…" The man started muttering to himself, words too fast and low for Jared to hear.

With nothing else to reply with, Jared just sighed. "You want anything more to eat?" he offered. "You finished that sandwich pretty quick."

"Nah, I'm good, thanks." Dean stood shakily, handing over his plate and glass when Jared held out his hand to take them. "I'm gonna just... go to the guest room for a bit, if that's okay. Cool off."

Although he wouldn't admit it, Jared was relieved. Time would be good for all of them. "Alright… Um, call if there's anything else you need, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Jensen mumbled unenthusiastically as he made his slow way to the guest room.

As the door closed, Jared couldn't help but blurt out one last apology. "I… I really am sorry, Jensen."

But Jensen wasn't there. 'Dean' sighed. "Yeah," he repeated. "Yeah, sure."

And then the door closed.

Jared sighed. All he wanted to do was help, but that seemed less and less possible by the minute.

* * *

 **So sorry again for the late update, but we hope this chapter was good enough to make up for it! Not much action, but Dean meeting "Jess," a scene you've all been waiting for. If you enjoyed, please shoot us a review! We really appreciate all our reviewers, the regulars and those who've just stopped by for the last few chapters. We love hearing what y'all think!** **-Mimzy and Pixie**


	11. Demon Eyes

**Hey, y'all! We're terribly sorry for another late chapter; things have been really busy for us both and it looks like it takes us about a week to put a chapter out. (And Pixie basically passed out at the keyboard, thank Mimzy for this one, guys! She's awesome!) But we should be back in action for good this time - no more late updates. Although I suppose for some people it's still Tuesday due to time zones… Let's hope you're all those people.**

 _ **Warnings for this chapter:**_ **Language, basically.**

 **Disclaimer: We do not own Supernatural.**

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" **Demon Eyes" - The Answer**

* * *

 _Well, the first day went… as well as expected_ , Jared decided finally as he finished rinsing out the supper dishes and loading them into the dishwasher. 'Dean' hadn't taken Jess well, but she'd managed to keep her cool and he was… dealing. Dealing was good. This was doable.

'Doable.' Yeah, _right._

He still had no idea what to do about Jensen's situation or injuries, never mind the fact that he hadn't had proper medication in god knew how long. Maybe Jared could borrow some from Deerwater… Christ. He was so in over his head with this. How many laws had he broken already by keeping him here? And he was seriously considering breaking more? He would be lucky if he wasn't in prison by the end of this whole ordeal, much less employed.

Of course, the easiest solution would be to take Jensen to a hospital, to inform the police… get him real help… but something in Jared twisted anxiously at the very thought. He'd let the man go once, trusted the system once. Look how that had turned out.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Jared slowly started up the stairs with a final glance at the guest room door, which stayed resolutely closed. Jensen would be okay for a night and if he wasn't, well, he knew how to shout. He'd proven that fact multiple times at Deerwater. And right now, Jared needed something he actually understood.

His wife was the closest he was going to get, despite that he was years away from fully understanding how she thought.

"Hey, sweetheart?"

He heard her call out from the bedroom, "In here!"

Jared took a deep breath, walking to the door and opening it and then stepping inside. He smiled slightly when he saw her, walking over and kissing her on the cheek. It was nice to know that some things in life were constant, and lucky for him, his wife was one of them; she had been ever since they'd met at Stanford.

She gave him a gentle grin, putting a hand on his shoulder comfortingly as if sensing his thoughts. "Just finished tucking Scott in. Figured you could use a break today."

He put his hand over hers, his smile widening a little. "Thanks for that." He paused. "...And um, thanks for being so calm about Jensen. All things considered, you handled it pretty well."

Jess's face folded instantly as she shook her head in sympathy. "I can't even imagine what it must be like for him..." Suddenly she looked up and met Jared's eyes. "But Jared, you know he can't stay here, right? This... he needs help - real medical help, and the police should be involved, and…"

Jared only grimaced, looking away. "Yeah, I've kinda figured that out already."

"Well, then, why didn't you just take him to the emergency room when he showed up?" A very good question, that. It was one Jared was still trying to justify to himself.

"Because…" He sighed." "The guy who did this to him was a professional psychiatrist working do you think the police will believe? The professional doctor, or the psych patient?"

Jess paused, before rubbing her face tiredly. "We can't help him here, Jared. He needs more than we can give him."

"I know. I need to think about it first. I need time." He took a deep breath, staying silent for a moment, before speaking once more. "Until then, he's a good guy. I mean, he's a bit nuts and he sometimes acts like a five-year-old, but… He cares about people. He's not always that bad."

Jess gave him a look like he'd just told her he'd forgotten how to read. "Do you _seriously_ trust him in our home? Around _Scott_? I took off work today, but I can't do that forever."

"Do I trust him? Yes." The answer came out quicker than he'd expected, and he was almost surprised himself at how confident it had sounded. Jess frowned a bit, and Jared shook his head. "I'm sorry, Jess, but I know him. He's not insane in _that_ way. He's not going to hurt Scott."

Jess raised her eyebrows, huffing. "He thinks I'm a _demon_."

"He thinks I'm his brother," Jared pointed out. "He's not going to hurt you. He might rant a bit, but that's it."

"He'll scare Scott!" Her protest hadn't been something he himself hadn't worried about, but Jared knew 'Dean' well enough to know that hurting a child was out of the option.

"I'll talk to him about it," he promised. "He's willing to listen to reason, most of the time."

She let out a quiet scoff. "Is _most_ of the time really good enough? Jared, this is our _family!_ I- I don't…" She stopped, taking a deep breath. He knew her well enough to know that she was scared, and why wouldn't she be? She'd woken up to a strange man in her house who called her a demon, probably threatened her at least once, before locking himself away in the guest room before he'd gotten home. And after he'd returned, things hadn't really been much better.

Jared walked over to her, pulling her into a gentle hug. " I know. I would've taken him to Deerwater the moment he showed up if I didn't know him as well as I do. He's not going to hurt our child. He's a good man, despite all his flaws."

Jess returned the embrace, mumbling into his shoulder, "I never said that I doubt he's a good man, but can we trust him?" She pulled back to look at him, raising an eyebrow. "Good men can do bad things, Jared, especially if they're delusional and think demons are attacking them and their 'family.'"

She had a point there. Jared already knew what 'Dean' was capable of when he was angry. He may have joked about the plastic fork incident, but the fork had been aimed at Dr. Sheppard's jugular. If Jared hadn't been there to pull him away, Jensen could have accidentally severely injured the older man... But he also knew that 'Dean' was a kind man, always wanting to do the right thing for the ones he cared about. And he honestly believed Dean cared about him, and by extension, his family.

He planted a kiss on the top of her head, assuring himself as well as his wife. "I trust him, sweetheart. It'll be fine."

Jess gave him a skeptical look, but nodded slowly. "How long is this for?"

"Just a few days, tops," Jared told her. "I promise." He only hoped he could keep his word, but he wasn't about to tell her that.

She sighed, giving in. "Alright, Jared…" She leaned up, pulling him down just a little and pressing a quick, gentle kiss to his lips. "Alright. A few days _only_. He needs help."

Jared nodded, leaning down again and kissing his wife softly. "...You should head to bed. It's been a long day."

Jess gave him a frown he knew all too well from years of living with her - disapproving and worried at the same time. "What about you?"

His sleep schedule had been chaos for weeks, even though he tried to get to bed at the same time his wife did. He'd usually wake up after an hour or so, and would be unable to sleep again until much later. Jared wished he could just hide what he was going through from his wife so she wouldn't always be worrying about him, but at the same time, it was a nice feeling to know how much she cared about him.

He gave her a small smile. "I'll be in bed in twenty; don't worry. I just want to grab some aspirin and a glass of water before I start getting ready for bed."

"Your headaches again?" Jess's brow creased in worry as she rubbed a hand over his bicep, and Jared shrugged a little, downplaying it to reassure her.

"Not as bad as it was ten minutes ago…" he testified, because really, it wasn't. Somehow, just being around Jess seemed to make everything in the world seem right again. "Don't worry, yeah? I'm fine."

Jess smiled up at him, pulling him into a hug. "Alright…" Her soft tone told him clearly that she knew he wasn't fine, but that she loved and trusted him too much to push the subject.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her hair, breathing in the sweet scent of her strawberry shampoo. "What would I do without you?"

Jess pulled away enough to smile up at him. "Crash and burn." She laughed as Jared swatted her hair playfully, feigning indignation.

She was honestly probably right.

* * *

Dean dropped the lit match into the bowl in front of him, completing the ritual. It had been a long day already and the last thing he wanted to do was have to deal with _him_ again, but it was necessary.

As expected, after a few seconds a distinct British accent rang out from behind him. "Ah, hello, Squirrel."

Dean turned around, crossing his arms. He was _so_ not in the mood to flirt with a demon today. "Cas. You got anything on him yet?"

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "It's only been a little over a day since we last chatted. Do give me some time, why don't you?"

The hunter clenched his fists. "I'm stuck here with a zombie brother and a demon, while Alastair is doing God knows what to my friend! We don't _have_ time!" He took a breath to calm himself down. "And right now, you're all I've got in the way of allies, so start _shaping up_."

Crowley rolled his eyes, scoffing quietly. "Now, now, don't get huffy. I'd have heard if the angel had died, so he's alive, at least. Be grateful of that."

Dean frowned, his expression grim. "Alive can be worse. You should know that." Alastair was as cruel as they got, and though he didn't want Cas dead by any means, that didn't mean he wasn't still suffering. Dean still couldn't believe he'd convinced himself to abandon the angel there.

"Yes, yes…" The demon carelessly waved the comment away, and then gave him a look. "I'm trying to figure it out _without_ getting caught, you know. If they realize I'm against them, you'll have lost your only ally. And then where will you be, exactly?"

"Yeah, well, just remember, I'm the one figuring out the escape plan. And if I decide you haven't been helpful…" Dean trailed off, scowling, and let his threat hang in the air.

Unimpressed, Crowley scoffed. "You'll what? _Kill_ me? Lose any and all chances of finding the angel? I don't think so."

He hated that the demon had a point. Every cell in his body was screaming at him to go after Cas, but he was basically trapped here as Sam's guard, the two of them pulling him in separate directions as he tried desperately to protect both. He couldn't be in both places at once; he needed Crowley's help, much as he hated to admit it."So trade then. You find Cas; I let you live. Sounds fair to me."

"Well, I'm certainly _trying_ to." Crowley tilted his head to the side. "What have you been doing that's so useful, anyway? Any leads on a way to escape? Hmm?" Crowley raised an eyebrow, and Dean glared. Was he really expecting him to have something after only a day? ...Nevermind the fact that he'd been expecting the same from the demon… Dean's scowl deepened as he pushed the traitorous thought out of his head.

"I'm working on _Sam_. I figured him not getting turned into an angel condom was top of the list!" He sighed, not wanting to ask Crowley for anything more, but not seeing much of a choice. "Look, I need you to keep an eye on him while he's at Deerwater. They're drugging him somehow. I almost broke through last night, but today... he was re-zombified. I don't know how Lucifer's doing it." He hated having to depend on a demon - much less _Crowley_ \- to watch his brother, but as long as Sam kept working at Deerwater, he didn't have a choice.

Crowley huffed. "Have you even _considered_ the possibility that it might not be Lucifer who's the one doing it directly? Ruby was brought back to keep an eye on him. I don't suppose you've thought about the fact that she just might also be there to keep the drugs in his system?"

Did the demon really think Dean was that stupid? He scowled. "Yeah. I watched her. She didn't give him anything."

"She's _Ruby_. You know her. She'd do it a bit more subtly than that." Crowley sighed. "If I were you, I'd start observing. Think of different methods she could be using."

"Why the hell is Lucifer resurrecting everybody, anyway? I mean, Ruby? Seriously?" Dean shook his head, scowling. By all rights, it didn't make any sense.

"Oh, not everybody," Crowley corrected. "Just those who might be useful for this. Truthfully, I'm fairly sure bringing Ruby back is only temporary. You know how he feels about us…" He sighed and rolled his eyes. "... _lowly_ demons."

"Aw, your _feelings_ hurt?" Dean scoffed. "Look, I need intel, not a buddy. You cool?" The last thing he needed was for Crowley to get _distracted_ because of Lucifer's attitude towards him and his kind.

"I am perfectly _fine_." The demon shot him a glare. "Are _you_? I'm hoping that those emotions of yours don't get in the way of fixing all of this!"

" _Emotions_? All I'm struggling with right now is the urge to rip your throat out," He let out a low growl. "And so far I'd say I'm doing pretty damn well, don'tcha think?"

"You need me. You know it. Stop throwing empty threats my way, hmm? It's only wasting time," Crowley pointed out, smirking.

As much as he hated to admit, the demon had a point. Dean opened his mouth to retort, before snapping it shut and glaring at him. After a few moments of stabbing Crowley repeatedly in his mind, he spoke up. "Doesn't mean I have to like it. And once we're out, I _will_ kill you, I swear to God."

"Yes, yes, whatever you say," Crowley's smirk widened.

"Speaking of which. I need to run a few tests," Dean said.

Crowley narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Tests?"

"Normal stuff doesn't work on demons here. I need a demon to figure out what will." It was Dean's turn to smirk now. "It's for the _cause_ , Crowley".

Crowley sputtered. "You… You want me to be your _guinea pig?!_ "

"You got a better plan?"

"Well, I would, if I knew everything that does and does not affect demons here! Then I could just tell you." The demon shook his head. "I can assure you, exorcisms won't work. The rest? I haven't exactly had the urge to experiment with what I can and cannot do here, exactly."

"Well, you're immune to salt…" He grabbed the bottle of holy water he'd made earlier from the bedstand, splashing the liquid in his face. Crowley shut his eyes when the water hit him, but seemed unaffected. "Dammit. That too."

Crowley wiped the water away with his handkerchief. "Sort of tingles a bit."

"So what, you're just like a human now?" He pulled out a large pocket knife he'd found earlier and opened it. "Give me your arm, and tell me if it hurts."

Crowley frowned. "Is violence really necessary?"

Dean rolled his eyes at the other man's unwilling attitude. "It might be, if you don't cooperate. C'mon, it's a tiny cut. Don't wuss out."

The demon grimaced, but reluctantly rolled up his sleeve and held up his arm, sighing. Dean drew the blade quickly across his arm, a thin line of blood appearing.

Crowley winced and pulled his arm back quickly. "Ow!" He looked at the human, an almost puzzled expression on his face. "That hurt."

Finally, something was going right.

Dean's eyes widened, a grin spreading across his face. "That hurt! That means it can hurt them. And if demons can get hurt by human weapons here... They can be killed by 'em, too." Alastair was going down, for good this time if Dean had any say in the matter. For the first time in a long while, things finally seemed like they just might work out in his favor.

The demon, however, looked less than pleased that he was now more vulnerable than he had been for centuries. "Well, that's just _lovely_."

"Hey, you bet it is," Dean told him, nodding. "That's the first good news all day."

"Well, don't be getting any ideas. You kill Ruby, and 'Jared' will never forgive you." Crowley's reminder was completely unnecessary, and Dean shook his head.

"If she tries anything…" Dean looked up at him, frowning. "And he's not gonna be 'Jared' for much longer."

"Well, we're certainly hoping…" Crowley nodded, examining the ceiling.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's the plan. I _almost_ had him, too…" Dean mumbled, rubbing his face tiredly.

Crowley shrugged. "Try and find what's drugging him, and remove it. That might help."

Brilliant suggestion, Sherlock. Like Dean hadn't figured that out himself. "Yeah. Got that." He waved a hand at him in a shooing motion. "Get lost; I got shit to do."

A solid starting point would probably be helpful, but for now, Dean would settle for Crowley being gone.

* * *

Castiel struggled against the restraints that kept him secured to the wall, his head pounding. He already knew the action was useless, but there was nothing else to do until his tormentor returned.

Something in the back of his head told him that it should be easy to get free from his chains - that he should have been able to escape from here by now- but he couldn't remember why. His memories were foggy, and there were some that were - at least temporarily - completely gone from his mind.

What was he again? He wasn't sure. He was the… something. Not human. Not human? How could he be… not human? He knew he wasn't… he was... He was helpless, that's what he was. There was nothing he could do yet. That part of his memory had not been restored.

However, he remembered the Winchesters - and he remembered Alastair. Most importantly, he remembered what the goal of the game being played was. And while he was trapped here, terrified and in pain, he knew that keeping Sam safe needed to be the first priority.

All that mattered at the moment was that he was positive that Dean remembered who he was as well - although he was unsure of Sam's condition, and that one of them would come back for him.

He was sure of it.

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 **So again, we hope you liked that chapter! Be sure to tell us what you think! - Mimzy and Pixie**


	12. Bad Moon Rising

**Hey! Wow! Look- a chapter ON TIME! Haha, okay, so we're starting to get back into the swing of things, sorry about the last two updates. Our buffer's gone because we weren't writing quite as much when we were on vacations with our families, but we're working on building it back up. This is another fairly short chapter, but we hope you enjoy it!**

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" **Bad Moon Rising" - CCR**

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 _Day Three._ Dean was so far extremely impressed with his self-control in not murdering sweet little 'Jessica.' He'd managed to content himself this far with fantasizing about her coming demise. Would he use a demon blade? Holy water? _Salted_ holy water? The possibilities were truly endless, but none seemed quite cruel enough.

Taking a deep breath to brace himself, Dean used his crutches to slowly hobble out of his room, sinking into a seat at the kitchen table. 'Jared' was at the counter, pouring coffee into two identical navy blue mugs.

"Morning, Sam," Dean greeted tiredly, rubbing his eyes with his forefinger and thumb (and purposefully _not_ greeting Ruby, who could be seen watching the morning news on the couch in the living room. Bitch).

"Morning, Jensen." Sam turned around, placing one of the mugs in front of him. Setting his own cup down, he went and grabbed the carton of half-and-half from the fridge and the sugar from the cabinet, putting them on the table along with a spoon. He sat down across from Dean, taking a deep breath. "I have to go to work in about fifteen minutes but… Can I have a talk with you?"

Well, a 'talk' was never anything fun… Dean's brow creased in concern, but he nodded anyway. "Uh... yeah, sure." He dumped an obscene amount of sugar into his coffee. "Everything all right?"

Sam frowned at Dean's coffee habits, just like always, but 'Jared' didn't mention it. Once again, Dean felt the sharp pang of loss for one of his brother's irritating habits he'd normally roll his eyes at. "Just, um…" He sighed, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. "Look, Jess skipped work yesterday, but she can't do it again today. It's Scott's Spring Break, so he doesn't have school…"

Dean could see where this was going. "...And you think I'm gonna go wack-job on 'im. All 'Cookoo's Nest?'"

"It's… I just…" Jared shifted in his seat, stirring his coffee so he didn't have to meet Dean's eyes. "I need to know if I can trust you, Jensen. I mean, I'm sure you wouldn't hurt him or anything, but… Can I trust you? Because he's my _kid_ , Jensen. I can't… I can't _afford_ to not make sure about this…"

Although the insinuation that he'd _ever_ touch Sam's kid - even though Sam didn't really have one - stung a little, Dean got why his brother had to ask. He wouldn't be _Sam_ if he didn't, and Dean had to make sure he knew that. "Sam. Jared. Whatever." He looked the taller man dead in the eye. "I would _never_ hurt your son, okay? No matter what you remember or don't. I would never hurt you by hurting him."

As far as he was concerned, 'Scott' was just an innocent bystander in all of this; some poor kid sucked into this world by the devil. Dean wouldn't have had reason to do anything even if the boy hadn't been 'Jared's' child.

Sam's face melted into a small, relieved smile. "That's all I needed to know. I trust your word. ...Thank you, Jensen."

God, this was too much. "You don't have to thank me for being a decent human being, Sam." _I'm your brother_ , he added mentally, biting the words back just in time. He was going for _less_ crazy here, not more.

"Still though…" Jared nodded again. "Thanks. I know this has been hard on you, I mean, with everything that's happened…" He offered a tentative smile, a show of peace. "Just, thanks."

"Can't be easy on you, either," Dean conceded. All things considered, 'Jared' had been taking this crazily well. He rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable with the personal turn the conversation was taking, and brightened when he had an idea to divert it. "Oh - question! Is introducing Scott to Metallica and Led Zeppelin considered 'hurting him?'" Part diversion, part extremely important question. Score.

Sam raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the question, although he tried to hide it. "No. My wife will hate you for it, but… Go for it."

Well, ticking off Ruby was definitely a plus. "Oh, yeah. Today he's getting a _real_ education."

"Yeah, well…" Sam rolled his eyes. "I better not be hearing Scott play that stuff all day."

"I'm not responsible for what he does with it, dude." Dean grinned broadly. But he would definitely encourage it.

"Why do I not believe you?" Sam smirked, shaking his head. "But if he doesn't like it, you turn it off, okay?"

The hunter smirked. "Won't be an issue. _Everyone_ likes Led Zeppelin."

"Jess doesn't," Sam pointed out, but he grinned. "But who cares about that, right? Though if anyone asks, I did not approve this. I knew nothing of it beforehand."

Dean gave him a mock salute. "It was _entirely_ out of your control."

His brother laughed. "Completely." He paused as if debating whether or not to continue, but then plunged on. "...Y'know, when I told you to visit once you got out of the state institution… You showing up on my doorstep half dead at one in the morning wasn't quite what I had been expecting. But um…" he chuckled nervously. "...Glad you're here."

"Yeah, right." Dean just rolled his eyes. Sam didn't need to lie to him to make him feel better about this craphole of a situation.

"Hey, I don't mind, Jensen. Dean. Whichever you want to be called right now." Sam shrugged. "Besides, you've got it worse off than I do, what with the ankle and the shoulder and…" he winced, looking Dean over. "Well, everything."

"Right." Dean barely restrained himself from scoffing aloud, changing the subject. "Right, sorry, Sam. Just... just stay away from Lucifer, remember that."

Sam's sympathetic expression melted to one of mild exasperation. "He's not the devil, Dean…" At Dean's pointed look, he shook his head, relenting. "But fine."

"Whatever. Humor me, okay, dude?" It didn't matter if 'Jared' believed him about Lucifer, so long as the archangel didn't get the chance to manipulate him while Dean was trapped here, helpless to stop it. And Dean was more than willing to look crazy if it meant keeping his brother (along with the rest of the world) safe.

"Yeah, sure." Sam chuckled slightly, finding the whole thing amusing. "I won't talk to the _janitor._ "

Ignoring the pointed emphasis, Dean relaxed a little, nodding. That was one less thing he had to worry about. "Good. He's bad news, man, I'm telling you."

And of course, because it would be awful to have a conversation with his brother alone for more than ten minutes, Ruby decided to take the opportunity to interrupt them.

She completely ignored Dean, walking straight up to Sam who stood up at the sight of her. "Off to work, honey?"

Dean saw Sam smile, practically beaming at the sight of his (not) wife, and he pushed down the urge to scowl at the happy couple. Sam, of course, didn't notice, focusing on 'Jess.' "I was just talking to Jensen about Scott. He'll be fine."

"Well, then…" Ruby looked over at Dean, smiling innocently at him. "I'm trusting you, Jensen. If Jared thinks you're alright…"

Sam cut in, nodding. "He is. Don't worry."

She nodded, leaning up and kissing 'Jared' on the lips - right in front of Dean. Because obviously, he didn't already want to strangle her enough. He rolled his eyes, but Ruby ignored it as she straightened Sam's collar. "I'll see you tonight, then. Scott's still in bed."

Sam smiled. "See you later." He leaned down, giving Ruby another kiss that lasted much longer than Dean would have preferred before he started walking to the door. He opened it, turning to glance at Dean before he left. "Behave, Jensen."

...Well, fuck you too, Sam. "Not five…" he muttered, mostly to himself.

Day Three. How the hell was he supposed to get through Day Three?

* * *

Jared walked down the hall, heading to go give one of his patients, a certain Ms. Olsen, her medication. She was supposed to have taken them ten minutes ago, but Jared had gotten caught up finishing up another task. He sighed, knowing that the older woman hated it when things weren't on schedule. It felt like his life was falling to pieces these days, honestly.

He turned the corner, speeding up a little to get to his destination faster, before accidentally bumping straight into Dr. Sheppard while lost in his thoughts.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" he blurted out, blinking fast to clear his head. "That was my fault; I wasn't watching where I was going-"

The older man ignored the apology, raising his eyebrows a little. "Jared. Didn't expect you in today. Thought you were a bit... overworked at the moment."

Jared shook his head, smiling politely. "No, thanks for asking, but… I'm fine."

"What about those headaches? They any better?" Dr. Sheppard looked at him, waiting for an answer, and Jared couldn't help but wonder why the doctor even really cared. It wasn't like they were close or anything; they just had a working professional relationship. Sheppard was his boss. That was it.

He shrugged a little. It was weird, sure, but there was no reason to lie. "Not really. But, I'm coping," he hastened to add.

Dr. Sheppard sighed heavily. "They've only been getting worse and worse the more you force yourself to work through them, Jared. Maybe you should just go home, hmm?"

"Thanks for the concern, but I'm fine." Judging by the irritated expression on the doctor's face, that wasn't the answer Sheppard was waiting for. "…I'll think about it," Jared amended, but it didn't seem to do much to appease his employer.

"I'm serious." Sheppard's brow furrowed. "You've seemed out of it for weeks. Maybe take a couple of days to rest up nice, and…"

Jared cut him off. He didn't want to be rude, but he really needed to get Ms. Olsen's meds to her and his head was currently pounding. Basically, his patience was already thin. "I appreciate the concern, really, and as I said, I'll think about it. But I can handle it."

"No, you won't, you _pigheaded_ …" Sheppard muttered to himself, rolling his eyes and scoffing, and looked at him again. "You're lying through your teeth."

...Touché. "Have the headaches gotten in the way of my work, or kept me from doing my best, sir? I'm struggling to see how this is such a big deal." Because it wasn't like his head really mattered, not if everything that needed doing was getting done.

Sheppard's reply was surprising. "It's a _big deal_ because you have friends who care about you and want you to be healthy. And while I know we aren't exactly… _friends,_ per se…" Sheppard trailed off, lip curling in distaste at the thought. "I'm worried for you, too. You have a lot on your plate at the moment."

Jared almost laughed at the older man's last statement. He had no idea… "And I'm handling it. I'm fine, honest."

His boss shot him an appraising look that said he knew far more than what Jared was letting on, then he sighed heavily, deciding there was no talking Jared out of something he'd already decided. "Fine. Go on, then. Do your job."

Relieved that the conversation was ending, Jared nodded gratefully. "Thank you, sir."

"Have no idea _why_ you're thanking me," Dr. Sheppard said, rolling his eyes in exasperation as he turned back to his notes. "I'm sure you would do precisely as you pleased regardless of what I had to say about it."

Jared was going to argue, but when he couldn't find anything to say he simply cracked a small, rueful smile. "...Yeah, probably. Sorry. I'll… I'll think it over, but…" With nothing left to say, he nodded quickly, walking to the door to end the conversation.

His path was blocked yet again, however, this time as he nearly tripped - first over a trash can that rolled out in front of him, and then by the janitor - Pellegrino - chasing it. "Jared! Hey, sorry 'bout that, man-" Still muttering a string of apologies, the man crouched down to sweep the trash back into the plastic bin.

Jared glanced behind him to see Sheppard already walking back to his office, muttering something to himself, before he turned back to the janitor. "It's fine. Um, need any help?" He glanced down at Pellegrino's nametag. "It's, er, Mark, right?"

A grin and a nod. "Yeah, thanks. Haven't talked to you in a while, how's it been?"

He knelt down, starting to help Mark clean up the mess. "It's been fine." ...Well, so much for not talking to 'Lucifer' like he'd told Jensen he wouldn't.

Mark laughed lightly and looked up at him. "Actually, it's almost like you've been _avoiding_ me or something. Everything cool?"

Now that was a bit of a strange assumption, Jared had to admit. "Avoiding you?" Jared raised an eyebrow, letting out an awkward laugh. "Yeah, no. Everything's fine. I've just been busy."

"With what?"

"Work, mostly…" Jared hedged. Technically, Jensen was work, so he wasn't really lying. Right? "Things have been pretty crazy around here recently. Patients have started acting up, that's all."

Nodding understandingly, Mark stood up, cracking his back as he righted the trash bin again. "Oh, yeah, I get that. I just thought you might've heard, y'know, gotten on the search…" He let his voice trail off as he let out a sad sigh.

But Jared only frowned, confused as he stood up himself. "Heard… Heard what?"

The other man's eyes went wide as he realized Jared truly didn't know what he was talking about. "About... about that patient you were friends with, uh…" he snapped his fingers, trying to remember the name, "Ackles! He broke out of the state institute, like a week ago."

Jared blinked. It wasn't that he was surprised that the janitor knew about it. After all, Jensen's escape had been on the news. That didn't mean he had been prepared to talk about it with anyone though- he didn't have a story prepared or anything. Best to play clueless, he decided. "Did he? That's, ah, that's bad. They haven't found him? Do they know why he might have escaped?"

Mark shook his head, eyes still wide as saucers. "No, it's like he just... vanished. The guy at the institute that was working with him, the doctor, he just got outta the hospital. The kid musta freaked, knocked him out pretty good. Decent concussion." He shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I thought 'cause you knew the guy, maybe you'd be in on something, I dunno."

In on something. Understatement. Jared looked down so the janitor couldn't read his features, suddenly uncomfortable for a reason he couldn't quite pinpoint. "...No, no one told me."

"He hasn't called?" Mark pressed. "Dropped by? Nothing?"

Jared took a deep breath, keenly aware of the man's eyes on him. "No. N-no, he hasn't." He cursed the distinct waver in his voice. He'd always been an awful liar.

"Are you sure? Because you were the one he was closest to." Something about Mark's voice was intense, almost predatory, and Jared shifted uncomfortably.

"Yeah, I'm positive…" He glanced behind Mark at the empty hall. " I… should probably be getting back to work." He winced slightly as his head started to throb even worse than before, grimacing slightly. He was suddenly reconsidering Sheppard's offer to take a break.

Mark furrowed his brow, noticing his discomfort. "Jared? You don't look too good, man."

"What?" Jared looked up, having not been paying much attention to the janitor for the past few seconds. "O-oh, I'm fine… But I need to go, sorry." He wasn't just saying that to get out of the conversation; he had a job to do. Even if he did decide to take a day or two off, he was still working today.

"Yeah, well, we should talk more often. I've missed it." Mark smiled in a way that was oddly anything but comforting.

Alright…? Jared had no idea how to respond to that, glancing at the hall again. "Have you? Sorry about that. I should probably get going..."

"See you around, then?"

"Considering taking a few days off, actually," Jared said. "Dr. Sheppard's idea. I wasn't really going to but, um…Starting to think it wouldn't be a bad plan." He grimaced for a brief moment as a sharp pain panged behind his eyes. Yep, vacation was starting to sound better and better every second.

"Headache again?" Mark frowned slightly, and Jared bit back a curse. Was it that obvious?

"Yeah, that's not the only reason behind taking a day or two off exactly, but…" The main one was sitting in his living room, most likely. Or raiding his fridge. "I'm just starting to think I need a break from everything. Until these headaches are under control, that's all." And until Jensen was getting the help he needed.

The janitor looked skeptical of Jared's plan. "Doesn't Sheppard need you here? What about the patients?"

"Like I said, Sheppard was the one who suggested I take a break; he won't mind." Jared rubbed the back of his neck. "The patients… They'll be fine without me for a few days. It's not like I'm quitting, yeah? Things are just chaotic right now."

" Sheppard…" Mark nodded, and Jared could have sworn that a dark look flashed over his face for a split second before it disappeared as quick as it came, replaced by the same easy grin. "Sheppard knows what's best."

 _What was_ that _all about?_ Jared wondered as he glanced at his watch with a frown. "I need to go, sorry. I have patients that need attending to."

The older man nodded understandingly. "You take care of yourself, Jared."

"Yeah, you too." Jared gave him a polite smile, before walking past him, trying his best to forget the whole strange encounter. He'd never been this late to give a patient their meds. Ms. Olsen was never going to let him live this down.

* * *

 **So it looks like Lucifer's starting to get impatient, huh? That's never good… Well, you'll just have to tune in next week to find out how things are going! Please drop us a review, we really do love to hear what y'all think!**

 **-Mimzy and Pixie**


	13. Sweet Child of Mine

**Alright, so here's the next installment! Hope you enjoy, and, like always, please tell us if you do! We really enjoy all the feedback we get from you guys!**

 **Actually… no warnings for this chapter, besides maybe a little language. This is disappointing, but we have filled this chapter (the first half at least) with copious cuteness in the form of a small child to make it up.**

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ **We do not own Supernatural, but we do own Scott, as he is an original character.**

* * *

" **Sweet Child Of Mine" - Guns 'N Roses**

* * *

Dean was pulled from his musings on very important matters (such as the end of the world, for one) by a persistent voice in his ear. Damn, he really should've just barricaded himself in the guest room again, but the coffee had been out at the table, and he'd fallen straight into the trap. And now here he was still sitting in the wooden chair, the coffee long gone, with Junior gabbing away about useless crap and expecting him to listen.

He supposed that Jared wouldn't appreciate him ignoring Scott and forcing the kid to fend for himself, and really - the kid wasn't that bad, but Dean was having trouble trying to find a way out of this stupid Matrix while babysitting. Maybe if his brother knew who he was, Dean wouldn't mind taking care of a small child all day so much, but right now? It wasn't doing anything to help stop Lucifer, which was the goal at the moment.

Suddenly, the kid looked up from his coloring book as if noticing for the first time that Dean wasn't exactly listening. "What did you say your name was again?"

The hunter decided to humor the kid, if only to turn the conversation away from the topic of his favorite _Disney_ movie. And besides, there might be something he could learn about this whole damn puzzle from the conversation. "Dean," he answered, before correcting himself as an afterthought, "But your dad's gonna tell you it's Jensen, so go with whatever floats your boat, kid."

Scott tilted his head to the side. "Is Jensen your last name?"

"Ha, no." He shook his head. Dean Jensen? Really? "It's just… er, complicated."

The kid nodded somberly. "Uh-huh. That's what Mom said about you being here." Right, because Mommy Jess had all the answers in the world. Or- actually, apparently not, as the kid then frowned a little. "...Why are you here anyway?"

 _OH_ , this was going to be fun. Where should he start, just a basic summary of the Apocalypse so far? Or should he just jump straight in with the big guns that 'Daddy' really wasn't his father, but instead the devil's meatsuit? "'Cause your dad and I are… friends. We go way back. So when I got into a bit of trouble…" Yeah, you could call it that. Dean wiggled the toes on his casted foot as an example. "He's letting me stay for a bit, just 'til I get back on my feet."

"What kinda trouble?"

Dean swore mentally. He should've remembered from practically raising Sam. Little kids asked a million questions and wouldn't stop until they were satisfied, since they didn't quite get the idea of 'privacy' yet. " I, uh, ran into a… dude. He's from way back too. Just less of a friend."

The boy seemed to accept the answer, turning back to his coloring book, before looking up again abruptly, a curious expression on his face. "Why does Dad look at you funny sometimes?"

"What do you mean, funny?" Dean frowned. He hadn't noticed Sam looking at him in any way, but he knew from experience that sometimes kids picked up on things that adults didn't. He'd been there for a few days already; it wasn't like Scott hadn't been in the same room as him and 'Jared' before.

" I mean, sometimes he looks at you. And either he looks really, really worried, or really confused. Like how he looks when he's forgotten something, like where he put his keys." The kid put down the crayon he was using, grabbing a blue one to color in the cowboy's hat.

" Yeah... yeah…" Dean muttered to himself, distracted as he flipped through his memories to see if he knew what Scott was talking about, only jerking back to full awareness as he saw the kid watching him for an answer. "Oh, uh... I don't know."

"Okay." Scott nodded, going back to concentrating on trying to stay in the lines of the picture and failing miserably (although Dean would never tell him that). "I just thought you would, since you and him are friends. Friends know why their friends do stuff like that sometimes."

Dean couldn't help but grin a little at the six-year-old. So maybe babysitting wasn't too bad. "Yeah, well, your daddy's a weird guy, Scotty."

"Nuh-uh." Scott stuck out his chin, stubbornly defending his father. "He's awesome. He helps people; that's not weird."

The kid's enthusiastic defense just made Dean chuckle quietly. "Weird in a good way, kiddo." He smiled slightly, speaking softly, almost to himself as he addressed Scott's last statement, "That's just what he does." As Sam _or_ Jared, really...

Scott narrowed his eyes suspiciously, trying to make sure that what Dean had said was actually complimentary, before finally nodding and accepting the answer. "So why haven't I met you before?"

"Been away. I travel a lot." Dean shrugged. That was the best answer he had at the moment and it wasn't entirely untrue.

The kid's face lit up with sudden interest. "Where?"

"All over." He grinned at him. "I drive all around the country."

"Doing what? You have a job, right? All grown-ups do, because they're so boring and stuff," Scott told him. "Most of them don't even have fun jobs, like being an astronaut."

Dean couldn't hold back a laugh. "Nah, my job's even cooler than an astronaut, kiddo. I help people too, just like your dad, but I get to travel around to do it." Strange to think that his shitty 'life,' if you could call it that, could be spun to also seem like the coolest job in the world.

"That's sweet!" The kid grinned. "So how do you help them? Dad works at some kinda hospital, but I dunno all the details about it…"

"Yeah, he helps sick people. I help people in different ways. I'm more like... more like the cops than a doctor." He guessed hunters were sorta like cops. Creepy supernatural cops who were more often than not hiding from the _actual_ police...

Scott's eyes lit up at the word 'cops,' instantly interested in where the conversation was going. "So you catch bad guys? That's awesome!"

Dean decided to leave out the very important details that the bad guys weren't human. and that by 'catching' them, what he meant was lopping off their heads or something similarly brutal. "Yeah, kinda."

"Do you have a gun? And handcuffs? Do you get to wear a uniform?" The questions hit in a barrage as the boy leaned forward, eager to hear more about Dean's 'career.' If you could call it that.

"Uh…" Sam wanted him to be a good influence for the kid, not talk to him about weapons. And certainly not hunting. He rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging. "Well, handcuffs." Crap, he hoped he hadn't dug himself into a corner with this whole cop thing. He knew nothing about actual police. Well, besides how freaking _irritating_ they were.

Scott tilted his head to the side, looking confused and a bit disappointed. "So no gun then? I thought all cops had those."

"I'm _like_ the cops."

More obvious disappointment. "So you're not a cop then?"

"More like... more like a detective, I guess. But not really. I do my own thing." Dean shrugged. That was about as truthful as he was going to get without getting on Sam's bad side for filling his kid's head with monster stories.

Scott's attention went back to the coloring book as his interest clearly faded. "That's cool too; I guess..."

"It's hard though." Dean blurted out, not quite knowing why. "Gets kinda lonely. I missed your dad." He swallowed the lump that threatened to rise in his throat. This was way too personal, way too close to the truth, to share with some random kid who he refused to admit reminded him so much of Sam it almost hurt.

"So why didn't you visit then?" Scott's curiosity was back, a confused but saddened look in his eyes at seeing the man in front of him slightly upset. _Sam always_ was _good at connecting with people..._

Dean just smiled sadly and shrugged, giving the answer he'd repeated to himself over and over while Sam was at Stanford with the _real_ Jess. "He had his life, I had mine. We were both busy; it just… never happened." Was it wrong of him to be so glad that hadn't worked out? Even with everything… the freaking Apocalypse… Dean jerked his mind back to the present moment. He didn't have time for soul searching.

"I thought you were friends though." Scott didn't seem to notice Dean's internal struggle, still fixated on getting his story. Dean had learned with Sam. Never start a story you weren't willing to finish. Once they were interested, they _would not let it go_.

"We are," Dean answered after a long pause. At least, he thought Sam still thought of him as a friend… his hand drifted up to the empty space on his chest where his amulet had once hung. "But... at school, do you always get to play with all your friends on the playground? Or do some of them want to play a different game sometimes?"

Scott nodded sagely again. "Sometimes Jack and Brendan wanna play football with the other kids, but yeah… I don't like football."

"Exactly. Sa-" Dean caught himself. "Your dad and I wanted to do different things with our lives. He wanted to go to college, I didn't."

"Why didn't you?"

He really should have thought about the example he was setting before he said that. "Wait- shit- bad influence." Processing the fact that he'd once again sworn in front of a small child, Dean's eyes widened a little. He'd basically promised 'Jared' that he wouldn't do or say anything the other man would disapprove of. "Wait -No!" This was not what he'd wanted. "Dammit-" Wait, _no-!_ Sam was going to kill him if Scott repeated anything he said.

The six-year-old wrinkled his nose in clear disapproval. "Daddy says you're not supposed to swear…" Oh, _come on_.

"Yeah, sorry, bad habit." Dean rubbed the back of his neck, muttering, "And I'm supposed to be being a good role model, too…" Yeah, he didn't know what he'd been expecting, truthfully. Him? A role model? Yeah right.

"So is that why Mom doesn't like you?" Scott asked, cocking his head to the side.

Dean took a long while to think before proceeding cautiously, wanting answers but trying to keep the situation from blowing up in his face. "...What does your mom say about me?"

"She doesn't say nothing," Scott assured him, tossing a broken crayon into the trash bin. "But she looks at you funny. Not like Dad does though. She looks at you like she wants to run you over with a big truck a bunch. Like forty-two times, even."

Oddly specific.

Dean nodded once. "Yeah, I don't think she's too thrilled I'm here." And there we go, understatement of the century, ladies and gents!

"Why isn't she?" the kid asked, confused. "You said Dad and you were friends."

Goddammit, this really was Sam's kid, wasn't it? Or at least… a helluva lot like Sam's kid _woulda_ been, if he actually had one. "Because… you're not friends with _all_ your friends' friends, are you?" Surely even Sam's kid couldn't be that friendly.

"No…" Scott admitted slowly. "Some of them are mean to me."

Relieved, Dean nodded, stretching his arms out in front of him to crack his stiff back. "Exactly. Not everybody likes everybody all the time. And besides, it's kinda weird, having someone in your house, huh?" He smiled a little, hoping to get a laugh from the kid, if nothing else.

"What's wrong with your arms?" Scott asked suddenly, looking up at him. "You look like a mummy kind of."

The hunter laughed easily, far too used to lying about injuries for his own good - but that was a separate matter. He groaned in a cheesy horror-movie monster noise, holding his arms out stiffly in front of him to reach out for Scott like a zombie. When the kid squealed and jerked back, he chuckled again, resting his still sore arms. "Just got a little hurt, is all."

Still giggling, Scott stared up at Dean in clear admiration. "You're funny. Like Daddy. How'd you get hurt?"

Dean looked at him with a solemn expression. "I was fighting a grizzly bear, kid."

"A grizzly bear?" Scott stared at him for a few moments, before shaking his head. "Nuh-uh!"

At that, Dean of course gave the very mature response of, "Yuh-huh!"

"If you did, you'd get eaten," the boy pointed out, raising his eyebrows a little, almost in a challenge - a face Sam had given Dean countless times while the two were growing up. If Dean thought about it hard enough, he could almost hear his little brother's voice. _I'm_ way _too smart to fall for that trick again, jerk._

"Nope! 'Cause I _won_."

Scott gaped at his claim, eyes widening just a little. "You can't win against a grizzly bear! They're too big!"

Dean grinned confidently. The kid was buying it. Awesome. "They might be big, but I'm smarter."

Scott still didn't look totally convinced. "You don't _look_ it."

"Hey!" Dean feigned offense. Oh, yeah. He was definitely seeing the similarities between the kid in front of him and Sam when he was younger.

The boy shrugged like he was just stating the facts. "Just saying…"

" I'll have you know, I am an _expert_ on…" Dean tugged Scott's neglected homework sheet out from under the coloring book. "What're you doing?"

Scott sighed, grumpy that he'd been caught putting off the work his dad had told him to finish by the end of the day. "Just homework...It's math." He wrinkled his nose in disgust as he glared at the worksheet. "I don't like it. Why do they give kids homework on Spring Break? It's mean."

Dean grinned as he scanned the problems. He might only barely have his GED, but he could handle first grade math. "Adding? Dude, I can do adding."

Scott glanced up at him, shyly but hopefully. "...Could you help?"

Ah, how his tune had changed from a few moments earlier. Dean smirked, feeling inordinately proud of his ability to complete elementary school homework (or so Sam would have said). "You sure you want it? Thought I wasn't smart."

"...Yeah, but…" Scott pouted. "This is _hard_... And Dad isn't here. He usually helps."

Dean grabbed the paper, smiling genially as he gave in. "No biggie. I used to help Sammy with this shi-" he caught himself- "crap all the time."

"Who's Sammy?"

"Huh?" Dean looked up at the question that seemed out of nowhere before he fully registered his last sentence. "Oh, uh, my little brother. He was a lot like you, actually." He smiled, reaching over and ruffling the kid's hair like he used to do with Sam when the kid was still small enough to let him. "Little twerp."

Scott pushed Dean's hand away from his head, laughing a little, before looking up at him. "So… Where's he now?"

At work with no memories and hopefully ignoring the devil janitor that was trying to get into his head. "Busy."

And of course, the kid couldn't just leave it at that. "With what?"

Dean sighed, rubbing his face. "You ask a lotta questions; you know that, kiddo?"

Scott glanced down and shrugged, seeming to get that Dean wasn't in a question-answering mood. "That's what my teachers say. And my Mom. And my Dad. And the neighbors…"

"No, it's - it's cool. I just don't like talking about him, is all." He gave the child a small, reassuring smile to let him know that he wasn't mad at him for asking or anything like that. "He doesn't talk to me much anymore. I keep trying to talk to him, but…" But he just couldn't find a way to get past 'Jared' and through to his little brother.

Scott tilted his head to the side. "Why doesn't he want to talk to you?"

"I… I really don't know, kid." He sighed. _Maybe 'cause this is what he's always wanted. Normal. No more hunting. No more big brother_.

"And he doesn't visit or nothing?" Scott looked almost shocked that anyone could do that, and Dean knew the kid didn't understand the situation. How could he? "That's _rude_. Dad says family is the most important thing ever, and that it isn't fair to hold grudges against 'em. He says family has to stick up for each other, no matter what."

Yeah, of course Sam would say that. Dean couldn't help but grin a little as Scott solidified his belief that his baby brother was still in there somewhere. "Family _is_ the most important thing, Scott. And I love Sam more than anything, but... but I think he might be happier without me in his life. I make a lot of problems for people."

"So?" The kid still didn't really get it. "Dad messes up in the kitchen sometimes and that makes a problem for Mom, but she still talks to him."

Dean sighed. Scott really wasn't going to let this go. "Yeah, well. It's a bit bigger than burning the lasagna, dude. Right now, your dad's the closest thing to family I got."

"What about your Mom and Dad?" Scott looked up at him innocently, before frowning a little. "Or do they not wanna talk to you either?" ...Well, if he saw all that Dean had gotten himself into now, John certainly wouldn't. And honestly, Dean didn't want to see him either. He didn't need to hear how much he'd screwed up. He could figure that out all by himself.

"Sometimes when you get big…" Dean swallowed hard, voice growing quiet as memories flooded in. "...your mom and dad pass away.

"Pass away?" The look on the child's face made it clear that this wasn't really a conversation Scott had had yet. "What's that?"

It was official. Dean was definitely worse at talking to children than he had remembered. He'd brought up every single depressing subject to talk about, and this one definitely took the cake. There would be no changing the subject now; he could tell by how Scott was looking at him. He took a deep breath. "Like, ah… You ever get a gerbil or something?"

Scott thought about it. "We had a fish once."

"And what happened to it?"

Scott shrugged, looking down. "It died. Mommy said that it just got too old…"

So the kid did know about passing away, he just didn't know that 'passing away' and dying were the same thing… "Well, you know that when people get really old, they can die, too."

The way Scott looked up with wide eyes made it clear that he did _not_ know that people were capable of dying, too. Then again, the kid _was_ only six, and Scott had informed him that he'd just turned that age a few weeks before. Dean shouldn't have expected anything else. "So your Mom and Dad...?"

Dean nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "...Yeah."

The boy stayed quiet for at least a minute, before speaking up quietly, "Does that mean that my Mom and Dad are gonna die too?"

Well, this talk had gone from bad to worse. If Scott went crying to 'Daddy' about all of this, Sam was probably going to personally kill him. "Ah, no! No, no, not your mom and dad. It's for _really_ old people, like, like _one-hundred._ "

The kid sniffled, obviously starting to be upset. "But they get older every year though…"

Dean grimaced. So the kid was a bit too smart to fall for that. "Nah, one-hundred's like _forever_. They'll never reach that age."

"So they're not...?" Scott still looked skeptical, but Dean had successfully kept him from crying about the matter, so he considered that a win.

"Nah, don't worry about it, Scotty." He gave him a small smile, reaching over and once again ruffling the kid's hair. Not to get all sentimental or anything, but he really missed the days when Sam would let him do that. "So hey, lemme help you with this math, okay?"

Glancing at the worksheet, Dean grabbed a blue crayon and tossed it to Scott. Maybe not the most normal way to do math, but honestly, he couldn't care less. "So look, three plus four, that's the first one. What've we got?"

"Uh..." Scott's brow furrowed in concentration as he counted on his fingers. "...Seven?"

Dean grinned at him, probably prouder than he should be. "Great, write that down."

The kid scribbled it down, his handwriting messy and hard to read even though it was just a single number.

"Alright!" Dean slapped the kid gently on the shoulder. "There you go!"

Scott grinned back, fist bumping Dean's offered hand. "I like you."

"Even though I'm _stupid?_ " Dean crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out, hoping for a laugh.

He wasn't disappointed - the kid's giggle lit up the room. "Yeah!" Son of a bitch, he really was starting to go soft.

There was a sharp cracking sound from the guest room and then something crashing to the floor, followed by muffled cursing. At Scott's confuse look, Dean hastily came up with a lie. "That's, uh… my alarm clock." He rolled his eyes. False - there were things in this world even worse than waking up early. "Gonna go turn it off. You work on the next one, eight plus two."

Scott nodded, not questioning the bogus story. "Okay."

 _God, kids who weren't raised fighting monsters were so gullible,_ Dean mused to himself as he hobbled to the small room and slipped inside, closing the door behind him. "Really, dude? What?" He noticed Crowley shoving the remains of a ceramic vase under the bed and groaned "Aw, come on! You do realise that _I'm_ gonna get blamed for that, right?"

Crowley rolled his eyes, ignoring Dean's complaint. "Please tell me you've gotten _somewhere_ with the Moose, or that you're at least somewhat closer to finding another way out of here. Because he isn't showing much improvement at _work_."

Dean sighed. Right to business, then. "'m working on it, okay?" He scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration. "It's weird; he'll _seem_ like he's remembering, and then suddenly he's jerked back to the friggin' Matrix!"

The demon let out an irritated huff. "Well then, you need to find a way to tie him down to reality and pull him away from the 'Matrix.' Because Lucifer seemed pretty anxious to talk to him today, and you know fully well that's not exactly _good_."

"Oh, son of a..." Dean let loose a colorful stream of curses. Who was Crowley to complain that _he_ wasn't doing his job well enough? "Seriously? Lucifer? Sam said he was gonna stay away from the janitor, and _you_ said you were gonna watch him!"

"I do have to actually _pretend_ like I'm on his side!" Crowley scowled. "I can't exactly go around pulling Sam away from him everytime he gets close! Not to mention, when Lucifer _not_ -so-subtly dumps a trash can in front of your brother just to start a conversation, there's really not much I can do."

Demons. No creativity whatsoever. Sometimes you had to lie your way out of a tricky situation. "You can't, I dunno, stage one of the patients having a meltdown or something?" He saw _no_ way _whatsoever_ you could fake a distraction in a _mental hospital_ , of all places.

"Lucifer controls the dream, you idiot." Crowley rolled his eyes. "He'd know that I was lying about something like that."

That… made sense. The only thing Dean hated more than being sassed by a demon he wasn't allowed to kill was when the demon actually had a point. "Well figure something out, then!" he snapped. "Cause if Sam says the big 'I do,' you can kiss your throne goodbye."

He shook his head, breathing in deeply. While Crowley was here, he might as well get all the information he could. "What's the word on Cas?"

"Still nothing," Crowley confirmed. "Lucifer's keeping his mouth shut on that particular subject."

"Well, _yeah_ , I'd expect he would." Dean's frustration was growing by the minute. "That's why you gotta _look_ , idiot. Do some digging. Research." It was amazing how incompetent everyone else really seemed when you stepped back and looked at them from a hunter's point of view.

"I have been!" the demon snapped. "However, I do have to actually make sure that your idiot brother stays busy! I don't give him things to do; Lucifer swoops in and 'Sammy's' too polite to not talk to him!"

Dean gritted his teeth. "You still can't get him to just give up and take a week off? I just need more time."

"Well, I'm certainly _trying_ to. Do you even realize how utterly _pig-headed_ he is?" Crowley shook his head in utter disbelief.

Yeah, Dean had realized that a long time ago.

"Oh, the stories I could tell you…" Dean muttered under his breath as he scrubbed a hand over his face.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't." Crowley replied sarcastically. "As you've been kind enough to point out, we're rather short on time…"

Dean wondered how much Sam liked the lamp that was currently sitting _just_ within reach, and how much shit he would get for slamming it into a demon's head. Although he supposed he was already on the hook for the vase...

"Yeah, well, it'd be nice if _someon_ e could get his demonic ass in gear, then!"

Crowley fixed him with a fiery glare. "I am doing _everything_ I possibly can! I do anymore; Lucifer will _kill_ me. And _then_ how will you find Cas, hmm? I'm fairly sure Lucifer's already figured out that I'm the one who sprung you from Alastair's looney bin. He's just waiting for confirmation of that fact!"

Glancing at the still-closed door behind him, Dean let out a weary sigh. He didn't have time to argue depressing points he already knew with an 'ally' who so far hadn't proved to be very much help at all. "Fine. Get outta here, then, Sam'll be back soon, and he can't see you here. Bad enough the kid heard you."

"Do you really think I'm worried about his _kid_?" Crowley scoffed as if in utter disbelief of Dean's sheer stupidity. "Please… You should be smart enough to realize that's not his son, much less anyone _else's_."

For the first time, something Crowley said made Dean pause, confused. Yeah, he had already assumed that Scott wasn't Sam's kid. But 'much less anyone else's?' "What're you talking about?" Much as he hated having to rely on anyone for information, much less a demon, he did need answers.

Crowley seemed genuinely surprised, almost, although the effect was ruined by the slight hint of a mocking sneer that pulled at his lip. "Do you _actually_ think the boy's real?" The demon let out a short, barking laugh. "He's a _fake_. An illusion created by Lucifer to add that nice, finishing touch to the dream. That air of authenticity."

The world didn't freeze, but it sure as all hell stuttered for a second.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath."Right. Right, of course." He wasn't going to let the demon know how much that last comment had gotten to him. At least not until he knew how much truth was behind it.

But when had he ever had anything close to luck? Crowley actually laughed. "Oh, don't tell me you were getting _attached._ "

"Shut up." Dean growled. Because dammit, he never _should've_ started to get attached to the kid. Even if he was real, he wasn't Sam's, and he certainly wasn't Dean's. This was best for everyone. This way no parents were stuck in some hospital, crying over their comatose son like he'd originally thought. So why did Dean feel like he had been suckerpunched in the gut?

"So you were," Crowley concluded smugly. "Tell me, who exactly did you think that kid was? Last time I checked, your brother didn't have a son, and certainly not with _Ruby_."

As if Dean didn't know that bit. He'd just thought that the boy had been like them… Unconscious, but real. "I don't know, I thought... I mean…" He swallowed, realizing he was stammering in front of a demon like an idiot. "He's a goddamn _kid_ , okay? I'm not attached!"

Crowley rolled his eyes, clearly not buying the statement. "Oh, of _course_ you aren't."

"He just reminds me of Sam, okay?" Dean snapped, defensive and embarrassed. Why the hell was he opening up to a goddamn _demon_ again? "When he was little."

"Well, _yes…_ Yes, that was the _point._ " Crowley shook his head, obviously irritated by Dean's 'incompetence.' Well, excuse him- no one had bothered to fill him in on the evil plan. "Jared is technically linked to Sam. He _is_ Sam actually, just... another version of him. One with a _regular_ life." Crowley sighed in frustration, before continuing, "The kid's supposed to be his son. Do you really think there wouldn't be a few… similarities between the boy and your brother's younger self? This _is_ him, just normal. Scott's an alternate version, if you will."

"So…" Dean swallowed hard to wet his throat, fighting to keep his hoarse voice from cracking mumbling to himself quietly, "So this is what Sam woulda been like. If Mom had never…" _Oh, god..._

The demon shrugged. Of course it didn't care. _It_ was an it. A _monster_. "Basically." He raised an eyebrow at the look on Dean's face. "Are you going to _cry_ now? Because if so, I might as well go."

Dean thought that was an awesome idea. He managed a weak glare. "G-Get outta here." _Oh, god… Sammy…_

"Yes, yes…" Crowley waved a dismissive hand. "But you need to make him remember, asap. I don't care what it takes. Lucifer's not stupid. He's going to catch on, and it won't take long for him to figure out where you are. The last thing we need is him to pop over for a little _visit_."

Dean's hand drifted instinctively to his knife, fingering the handle. "Got it. But I don't think he'd risk it, not yet. He needs Sam to know what's going on to say yes."

" Let's just hope he doesn't get desperate. Pain can be an amazing reminder, Dean, and you know Lucifer wouldn't be afraid to use that tactic." Pain could be an amazing reminder… Alastair had said something similar, hadn't he?

Something in Dean's gut twisted and he swallowed another wave of guilt. "I get the picture."

"I would certainly hope so." Crowley smirked again. "I'm not sure what Lucifer said to Sam today, just to be warned. You might want to try and subtly find that out."

Dean huffed bitterly. "Great, really friggin helpful, thanks."

"And remember, I did say _subtle_."

He growled. How incompetent did the demon think he was? "I _get_ it. This is why I don't work with demons. Jesus Christ…"

Crowley gave him a look. "And this is why I try not to work with squirrels."

Dean opened his mouth to remind the demon to look for Cas, but before he could, the demon was already gone. He took a deep breath, before heading back out of the room to face the version of his little brother's younger self that almost existed.

* * *

 **BOOM GOES THE BOMBSHELL. Haha, if that chapter was any good, please drop us a note, as again, that's all fanfic writers get paid. Please pay us. We are not above guilt tripping. We're actually very good at it if we really wanted to try. And let us know what you think of Scott! OCs are always fun to write. Especially cute, little ones.**

 **See you next week!**

 **-Mimzy and Pixie**


	14. Crazy

**Hey! As it is Tuesday, we have another chapter for y'all. We've really appreciated all the reviews we've been getting, so thanks to everyone who's given us their feedback!**

 _ **Warnings for this chapter:**_ **Language, and there's a small, tiny, fairly mild torture scene at the very end. So there is some violence and blood, but not as much as there was in chapter eight.**

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ **We do not own Supernatural, but we do own Scott.**

* * *

" **Crazy" - Gnarls Barkley**

* * *

"Dad!"

Jared had barely managed to get two feet inside the front door before a small but densely packed bundle of cheer barrelled into him, nearly knocking him over as he was distracted shrugging his coat off. He grunted something, blinking down at the tiny attacker in surprise for a split second before he realized who it was.

Wiped as he was from a particularly stressful day at work, Jared managed a small grin. "Hey, kiddo! How was your day?"

Scott beamed up at him, excitement gleaming in his eyes the way it only did when he had a _story_ he wanted to tell his dad about. Jared braced himself for the long, eager, and high pitched ramble that was bound to happen, smiling a little anyway. "Great! Dean helped me with my math!"

Jared laughed a little at Scott's excitement. "Did he now? He any good at it?"

"Yeah," his son confirmed. "And he's funny, too."

He nodded, ruffling Scott's hair affectionately. "Yeah, Jensen's got a good sense of humor...Where is he, anyway?

"In the living room, I think." Scott frowned a little, and Jared could tell that his little boy had a question. "Why do you call him 'Jensen,' Daddy? He said his name was Dean."

Aw, crap… that's right, Jensen would have introduced himself as Dean. That is who he thought he was... Awesome, just one more weird thing Jared didn't have an explanation for. Not a good one, anyway. He hated having to lie to his kid, but… Jared sighed. "He's… um… Dean's a nickname."

Scott just looked confused. "But it doesn't sound like Jensen. Like Mom calls me 'Scooter' sometimes 'cause it sounds like Scott. I thought that was how nicknames worked."

"Ah… It's a special case." Could the kid just leave it at that? Not if Jared knew him at all...

"What kind of special case?" Apparently he did.

"He's a… special person," Jared postured vaguely. True. Very true. "So his nickname… It's a bit different."

Scott nodded in agreement. "Really special. He fought a _grizzly bear_."

Jared raised an eyebrow, looking down at the kid. What had Dean been telling this boy? He supposed he should be thankful that so far, Scott hadn't mentioned demons, the devil, or the apocalypse."A grizzly bear?"

"He _did_!" Scott insisted, looking up at his father and nodding seriously. "That's how he got all hurt like that."

Ah, that explained it… Scott had undoubtedly asked about the bandages and 'Dean' had been kind enough to make something up that not only kept Scott away from the darker truth, but was also fun. Jared had a feeling that Scott officially had a new role model, if the look in his bright hazel eyes was anything to go by. "Well, that's exciting, isn't it? Where is he anyway?"

"He's in his room," Scott said, trotting along behind Jared as he walked into the kitchen to grab some painkillers for his headache. "How long is he staying, Dad?"

Jared's stomach dropped. "Just… Just a few more days, kiddo." He looked down at his son with a pang of guilt, knowing that Scott would want to see the guy again once he left, and Jared had no clue when that would be. This whole situation was unfair to the kid. Unfair to his wife. But what other choice did he have? "You mind that too much?"

"No, I like him," Scott chirped happily, easing Jared's concerns a little. At least the kid could enjoy Jensen's company while he was here… "He's funny and nice. But doesn't his work need him?"

"His work?" He frowned a little, not understanding. What work…? He'd promised not to tell Scott about hunting, so that couldn't have been what 'work' was, right? "No… Don't think he has work."

"He does. He's like you; he helps people," Scott informed him, basically clinging to his sleeve as he tried to open the pill bottle. "But more like a cop than a doctor, he says."

Jared poured a few painkillers into his hand, before putting the cap back on the bottle. "Does he now? What all has he, um, told you about his work?"

If 'Dean' had filled Scott's head with any of his horror novel worthy stories - just like he'd promised not to… Jared and Jess would be sharing their bed with a nightmare-ridden child for weeks. Which would be unfortunate, as Scott liked to kick people in his sleep - something Jared had discovered after the boy had somehow managed to watch part of a horror movie while at a friend's house. If those near-sleepless three weeks were repeated because of something Jensen said, Jared was going to strangle the man himself - if Jess didn't beat him to it.

"He chases down bad guys and saves people. Like a cop." Scott frowned, looking a bit disappointed. "But he doesn't have a gun or anything cool like that."

"Thank goodness for that," Jared nodded, relieved, swallowing the pills with a glass of water. Okay, as long as Scott thought that Jensen was just some sort of cop like in the TV shows - just weaponless, that was alright. "So good day then?"

Scott nodded happily. "Mm-hmm. Dean's music is really cool."

Jared groaned, he'd been hoping for his sake that the kid would hate it, but apparently no dice. "Yeah, well, don't let Mom know, 'kay?"

At the mention of Jess, his son frowned in thought. "Hey, Dad, why doesn't she like Dean?"

The question caught Jared off guard. "What?" If he was perfectly honest, he hadn't really expected Scott to pick up on the tension between the two. "Er… Mom's just got a lot on her plate right now. She's a bit tired and stressed. She likes Dean just fine."

"Even _Dean_ says she doesn't." Scott pointed out, and Jared could have punched something if he wasn't the dad and supposedly in control.

"Well, Dean's… stressed right now too." His answer came out tight and pinched, and he sincerely hoped his son wouldn't pick up on it.

Scott nodded, as if something had just clicked in his mind. "Because of his brother?"

"His brother?" 'Dean' thought Jared was his brother, but Scott didn't seem to know that. So what was this about?

"Didn't he tell you?" Scott frowned, looking almost a little surprised, as if expecting Jared to know everything already.

"Um..." Crap, what was he supposed to say? Jared swallowed before answering. "...a bit. What did he tell _you?_ "

"That his brother doesn't talk to him anymore." What was 'Dean' trying to do by telling Scott that, exactly? Guilt-trip Jared through his kid into 'remembering' being someone who he wasn't? "He says he likes him, but _I_ think Sam's just a big jerk. Family sticks together, even if there's problems."

Jared couldn't help but sigh in relief quietly. "Big jerk, huh?" Good. 'Big jerk' he could deal with. Wacky Apocalyptic demon possession stories he could not.

He smiled down at his son, proud that the kid had remembered what he'd told him. "But yeah… Family does stick together, kid. Don't you ever forget that. And sometimes… Family doesn't end in blood, either." Was Jensen 'family?' Was 'Dean?' The lines that had once been so clear were blurred almost beyond recognition, and it startled Jared to realize he couldn't tell anymore.

His kid nodded somberly, looking up at him. "He really likes you, Dad. He says you're like his family."

"Thought he'd say that," Jared glanced down for a brief second, before nodding. "Yeah, he's… he's a good friend."

"You're better than _Sam_ is, anyway." Scott furrowed his brow, looking a little upset and a bit confused about the subject. "Dad, why doesn't Sam wanna help Dean?"

Oh, come _on_. How was he supposed to explain that? "Er, it's not that Sam doesn't want to help; it's that…" _It's that Sam isn't real_. "Scott… Sam can't help, that's all. But we can." Well, Jared was certainly going to try to, even if he hadn't figured out what to do about everything yet. Helping Jensen was all he wanted right now. ...Well, that and for his head to stop pounding. And also for his life to get at least _slightly_ back to normal, preferably soon.

The kid shook his head. "I don't get it. Why _can't_ he? It's his _brother_." Well, let it never be said that Scott didn't understand the importance of family. Part of Jared was proud of him for being so passionate on the subject of loyalty, but most of him was just trying to figure out how to explain 'Sam' - the big jerk - to Scott.

"It's… He… Sam is…" Floundering for words, Jared sighed and gave up.

" _What_?"

"Nothing, Scott," Jared said, perhaps a bit more snappishly than was necessary. In his defense, his head was really hurting. "It's just really complicated."

Scott set his jaw stubbornly. "No it's not. It's easy." He folded his arms against his tiny chest. "He's family and he's not doing a very good job."

A pang of inexplicable guilt shot through Jared's chest, which was _stupid_ , because he had nothing to do with 'Sam' other than the fact that Jensen thought he was him, and he was already doing everything he could. "Yeah, he isn't. He really isn't. But I don't think he knows what to do, that's all."

Really, Jared wasn't at all sure why he was even bothering to defend 'Sam,' even a little bit. The guy wasn't a real person, so it shouldn't affect him. There shouldn't be an inexplicable tightness in his chest to hear Scott criticizing him. He shouldn't want to scream that _Sam_ is _a good brother, dammit!_

Jared sighed, and then decided to change the subject. "Hey, your mom will be back home soon. How about you draw something for her? We can stick it on the fridge. I want to check up on Jensen anyway."

"Okay…" Scott said slowly, nodding as he glanced at the guest room door. Jared couldn't help but wonder if the kid was starting to pick up on the situation, even if he didn't fully understand it. "Okay. I'll go to my bedroom."

Jared smiled at his son, ruffling his hair before he walked over to the guest room, knocking on the door. "Jensen? You alright?"

Jensen opened the door, rubbing a hand over his face. "Heya, Sammy. How was work?"

"Fine, considering…" Jared was purposefully vague, hiding his guilt easily. He _had_ told Jensen that he wouldn't talk to the janitor, and even though there hadn't been a way out of it… "Bit hectic."

"Any good _conversations_?" Jensen arched an eyebrow. He knew. Jared _knew_ he knew. Crap. How he figured that out, Jared had no idea. But Jensen had somehow known that Jared hadn't kept his promise. Jared couldn't help but feel bad about it, even though the promise had seemed silly in the first place. Jensen had kept his end of the deal, and Jared hadn't.

"Good ones? Nope." Jensen's eyebrows climbed even higher, and Jared sighed as he gave up any attempts not to just tell the other guy. This whole thing was ridiculous. The janitor wasn't evil. But still… A promise was a promise, and Jared had broken it. "Ran into the janitor. Not on purpose though, so don't freak out." He rolled his eyes, feeling uncomfortably like a teenager getting caught coming in past curfew by an angry dad.

Jared could tell that 'Dean' was trying pretty hard to keep his tone casual; to not freak out over the fact that his 'brother' had been hanging out with 'Satan' once again. Albeit accidentally. "Really? What'd he say?"

"Asked how I was doing." Jared paused. "And apparently word that you're out of the state institution is getting around. Then again, it was on the news." He sighed, rubbing his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. He really didn't know what to do about this.

"Son of a bitch... " 'Dean' muttered under his breath. "Gonna have to call Crowley again…" Wait, who was Crowley... ? "Any word on Alastair?"

"Ala-who?" More weird names- "No."

Jensen sighed, exasperated. " _Heyerdahl,_ dammit."

"...Then no."

Musing to himself, Jensen ran a hand through his spiky hair. "If they know I'm out, do they know why?" He hesitated, horror dawning on his face. "Or _where_?"

Jared couldn't help but get caught up with the other man's emotions, a curl of fear starting to form in his own gut for basically no reason. "I… I don't know. He asked me if I knew anything about where you were just out of curiosity, but…" Jared stopped himself before he let the irrational panic carry him too far. "Look, pretty sure they don't know."

Jensen swore quietly to himself, running a hand through his hair, before looking up at him. "What did you say?"

"That I didn't know anything, and hadn't even known you were out until he said something." He sighed. "Probably shouldn't have done that, but…" It was too late now.

Jensen nodded, letting out a sigh of relief. "Thank God for small mercies, I guess. That'll buy us some time, at least…"

Jared stared at him blankly as the man mumbled to himself about plans and keeping 'one step ahead.' "Jensen, you realize that in _reality_ , lying about this probably just made things _worse_ , right?"

Jensen huffed. "In _reality_ , you're in a coma God knows where and the world is maybe about to end. This might have put that off for a few days, so good job."

" _Coma_?" He sighed. He had humored Jensen's delusions far too long for the other man's good. "Jensen, the only bad guy here is Heyerdahl, alright?"

Jensen sighed. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever."

"Jensen, all I want is to help, but I don't know what to do here, alright?" Jared looked at him, frowning and hoping he'd understand.

"Yeah. I know. You've said." The other man pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, Sam, you've gotta make an effort here, okay? C'mon, man, work with me."

Like Jared hadn't _already_ been making an effort to help. He frowned, starting to get frustrated with everything, especially Jensen. "I'm _trying_! I really am. But you've got a problem, and I can't pretend to believe your… theories about what's actually going on. It's not helping you, and it's _certainly_ not helping anyone _else_." Most of all, it wasn't helping Jared's headache, which had just worsened. _Great_. Feeling like his skull was trying to implode was _just_ what he needed right now…

"No, you're trying to push it away!" Jensen stated loudly, scowling. "I don't need 'Jared's' help, I need _Sam's_."

Okay, this was starting to go a little too far. "Sam _doesn't_ exist! That's the problem. And I wish he did, but he doesn't, okay?!"

Jensen stopped, blinking. "You... you wish he did?"

Jared sighed, explaining himself, "You're my friend, Jensen. I want you to have a good life, and goodness knows you deserve the perfect brother. I'm just… not him."

Jensen sighed quietly, looking almost a little disappointed. "Sam, I know you're trying to help. But... but humor me here. Play along for a bit. I just need you to trust me."

"Jensen, I can't… play along." It went against all of Jared's training; against everything he'd been taught. It wasn't an option, and it wasn't how to properly handle the situation.

"Look me in the eyes, Sam." Jensen looked up at him. "C'mon. It's me. You know you can trust me." The poor guy's gaze was intense, pleading, and the raw pain there made Jared's stomach clench. What must it be like to lose a 'brother?'

Jared didn't think it could be that different from losing a friend.

He sighed, but looked straight at Jensen anyway. "I want to, Jensen, but…" _But what you believe is all a figment of your imagination..._

"Please try."

The simple plea tore something inside him, and Jared took a deep breath. It wasn't that he didn't want to trust 'Dean's' judgement. It was that he couldn't. " I am, Jensen, really."

Jensen ran a hand through his hair, looking away. "You're _trying_ to shut me out."

"No!" Jared was quick to counter, "No, Jensen, I'm really not. It's just-" He stopped short, too many possible endings for the sentence flooding his mind and making it impossible to choose just one.

"Just?" Jensen raised his eyebrows, obviously interpreting Jared's silence the wrong way. "Give me a chance, Sam. Give _Dean_ a chance."

"I…" This was not what he wanted to come home to. "You're asking me to believe that everything I know is fake, 'Dean...'" He sighed, trying to figure out what to say. There was absolutely no way Jensen's theories were true.

"And _you're_ asking _me_ to do exactly the same thing, Sam." Jensen scowled, looking as done with the conversation as Jared felt.

Alright, so 'Dean' had a point. Jared was asking him to do that. But he couldn't just let Jensen live in his delusions; in a life that he never had. The further he let the man slip, the harder it would be to pull him back. "Jensen, I just want to help." Really, Jared didn't know how to make that any more clear.

"You've _said_ that already, Sam." By the look on his face, Jensen didn't seem to think that Jared was helping very much.

A spark of guilt flared up in Jared's chest, and he wasn't sure where it came from. It wasn't like there was much he could do right now considering the circumstances, so why did the look Jensen sent him make him feel like an absolute failure? It didn't make any sense. Then again, it didn't seem like very much at all was making sense lately. "I'm sorry," he said simply. It was the only thing he could really think of to say, and it was the truth.

"Yeah, whatever." The other man scoffed, turning away. "Whatever, Sam. I'll figure this out on my own."

Jared frowned, having a bad feeling he knew exactly what Jensen meant by 'on my own.' "Don't you dare leave." Jensen wasn't in any kind of shape to go wandering off on his own, mentally or physically.

Jensen just raised an eyebrow, almost amused. "You think I'm just gonna sit here and let Lucifer track me down?" He shook his head. "Sam, I'm putting you in even more danger by staying."

"You're not. Don't you dare sneak out…" He hesitated, before he spoke again. "Dean. Please." Sure, calling Jensen by what he thought his name was could only end in trouble, and it broke multiple rules that Jared had lived by during his time working at the institution. But he had to consider Jensen's safety, even if it meant almost supporting a delusion.

His friend smirked. "It's not 'sneaking' if I _tell_ you I'm leaving, Sammy."

"Dean, no one here wants you to go." Jensen snorted at that, but Jared continued. "You could get hurt even worse. I _won't_ let that happen."

Jensen looked at him with a sad look in his green eyes. "Look, you don't remember anything anyway; it's not like me being here's doing any good. Might as well keep you outta harm's way as much as possible."

"I don't care if you being here doesn't 'do any good.' _Stay_." It wasn't a suggestion, and Jared definitely wasn't asking.

Jensen glared at him, obviously frustrated. "Dammit, Sam, you don't get it! I'm putting you in even _more_ danger than you're already in just by being here!"

"So what?" Jared snapped, utterly fed up with Jensen's bold claims. He wasn't healed enough to leave, and he _knew it_ , dammit! "You're just going to leave and stay… where, exactly? I'm not letting you go off by yourself, Dean! Your ankle isn't fully healed yet, you're still recovering from being freaking _tortured_ , and..." He shook his head. If that wasn't enough to knock some sense into Jensen's head, the guy was even thicker than Jared had thought.

Jensen just waved a hand dismissively, putting all his weight on his other crutch. "I'll find some motel somewhere, don't get your boxers in a knot. I'm a grown man, Sam."

"No." Fed up, Jared set his jaw and folded his arms. "You're staying here until I figure out some other option. That's final."

Apparently Jensen was unclear about the definition of the word 'final.' "Such as?" The man raised his eyebrows, and Jared had to admit, he didn't really have a clue. "Look, dude, it's my job to do what's best for you, even if that's getting as far away as possible."

Jared didn't even bother to argue that last statement, sure whatever Jensen meant by that was a long and complicated part of his fantasy world, most likely involving demons and/or monsters. "Yeah, but it's my job to do the same for you." Jensen was still his patient, and Jared was going to his job even if it killed him, despite the fact that he couldn't get the guy his meds. "You're still pretty beat up, Dean. You shouldn't be going anywhere, and you won't be."

Jensen shrugged, totally uncaring about his own health and well-being. "I've done a lot more on a lot less."

No, he just thought he had.

"I don't care what you've done in the past. You're staying put."

Jensen sighed, seemingly giving in. "Then meet me part-way and take some time off. You can hang with me and Scott."

Jared shrugged, making his way to the living room. "Done." Man, that deal was easy; he hadn't even had to compromise.

"Really?" Jensen raised his eyebrows, looking surprised that Jared had agreed to it that easily. "What made you change your mind?"

"Well, there's you for one." Jared sat down on the couch, grabbing the newspaper from off of the coffee table. "And while the janitor is _not_ the Devil," he shot Jensen a look, "he's still… sort of disturbing. Plus, you know I haven't been sleeping well recently, and combine that with the headaches… Don't feel too hot." He really didn't. The headaches had started to get more frequent ever since Jensen showed up, and Jared personally blamed it on stress. That, and not sleeping much.

Jensen nodded, sympathetic but clearly relieved. "Well, hey, Scott and I'd love to hang with you." He grinned. "He likes my tunes."

"Yeah, he does." Jared couldn't help but smile just a little. "Likes you too. Likes you a whole lot better than the other babysitters we've had in the past." Oh, the tantrums Scott had thrown at having to stay with a few of the ones they'd hired…

Jensen grinned, looking a bit smug. "What can I say? People love me."

Jared shrugged, opening the newspaper to the sports section and swallowing hard. 'Dean' was a good guy, but... "Yeah, guess they do." ...Jared just wanted his friend back.

* * *

Castiel bit back a choking cry as the demon in front of him grabbed his jaw and slammed his skull into the hard wall behind him. Blood trickled down the back of his neck, trailing hot across his skin and leaving a cloying coppery stench hanging in the air. Something in the back of his mind told him that he shouldn't be able to feel the pain, but he couldn't recall why not.

He'd been used to Alastair being the one to torment him, but this time it was a female with dark brown hair, who'd introduced herself as 'Camari' with a smirk. Dean's… ' _Jensen's_ ' wife. This had all been perfectly planned, he realized dully, although the pain exploding behind his eyes made it hard to register anything fully.

Camari scraped a manicured nail down his cheek, a thin line of blood beading in its wake. "You really don't remember, do you? All that power… suppressed by the lack of knowing you have it."

 _Power? What… what power…_? Castiel tried to ask - tried to say anything - but his tongue was dry and swollen in his mouth, sticky as it rubbed over cracked lips. He hadn't had water in… he didn't even know how long he'd been trapped down here, locked in the darkness. All that came out was a pitiful moan that he bit back fast as he could, hating any show of weakness.

The demon cackled, her eyes brightening at the sound. "Poor little must be so confused." She picked up a knife from the rusting cart just at the corner of Castiel's vision, twirling it so the nearly surgically sharp blade glinted cruelly in the dull light. "Hold still. This'll only hurt a lot."

All Castiel could do was watch as the knife drew closer and closer until it was poised just over his collarbone, cold metal pressed against hot, sweaty skin. He closed his eyes.

And then there was pain - a line of fire trailing down from the base of his neck to his navel - and he might have screamed, but he couldn't even be sure of that anymore. He was floating, floating somewhere in a haze of pain, new and remembered alike.

Before he could register what he was saying, Castiel screamed in a desperate plea for help. " _FATHER!"_

He wouldn't remember the broken cry later, when the demon was finally satisfied, and he was left to slump, exhausted, against the wall of his cell.

He wouldn't have understood, anyway.

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 **We hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks for reading! - Mimzy and Pixie**


	15. Brother, My Brother

**Hey- so we're sorry about last week, both of us were getting settled back into school and I had to actually drive out there and move in. So things have been crazy, but we've decided not to put this on hiatus or anything. You will still be getting weekly updates; they might just be a little shorter than you've gotten used to. We'll see how this goes, but we've both put way too much time into this story to just abandon it, so never fear!**

 **We also apologize that this chapter is a bit late late, but there were computer issues that kept us from posting it last night.**

 **No real special warnings for this chapter, just cussing and angst, which - honestly - you should probably be expecting from us by this point.**

 **We claim no ownership over** _ **Supernatural.**_

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" **Brother, My Brother" - Blessid Union of Souls**

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Sometime in the middle of the night, Dean's eyes fluttered open to a near pitch darkness. Again. Maybe it was some part of this god-awful dream world - some extra torment Lucifer had decided to tack on because losing his brother and possibly starting the end of the world wasn't enough - but Dean hadn't managed to sleep through the night since this whole ordeal had begun. With a grunt, he rolled over on his side to glance at the clock and swore softly at the time. After two in the morning. Awesome.

His half-dazed state dissipated instantly as he heard a soft sound from the other room.

 _Shit._ Suddenly every sense was on high alert as Dean pulled himself from the bed with the edge of the dresser as a support. He didn't have any decent weapons... He grabbed his crutches. He could probably use one of them to bludgeon an attacker in a pinch. _After all_ , he thought ruefully, _I've done more with less._ But of course, that had been with Sam by his side.

Carefully, he made his way to the door, cursing the clumsy way the crutches made him hobble and the dull thud they made as he put them down. With a slight push, the guestroom door was opening, and Dean shifted his weight to one side, ready to take a swing, and…

And nothing. The room was empty, dark and still. Except- Dean's keen eyes fixed on the one point of movement in the room, which was Sam, sprawled out on the couch, tossing and turning in his sleep. Dean was a bit surprised the guy hadn't fallen off the piece of furniture to the floor yet, really.

Sam's face was screwed up tightly as if in pain, a hand flying out to fend off an invisible attacker. The man let out a shaky noise that Dean would almost count as a sob, had this been anyone besides his brother. Because Sam didn't cry - he wouldn't cry, unless-

"D-De…"

The nickname fell almost inaudibly from Sam's lips, shaky and unsure, a desperate plea. For a moment, Dean thought he had imagined it. But then he was moving across the room fast as he ever had on the damn crutches, eyes wide as he lowered himself to his brother's side. "I-I'm here, Sammy," he assured quickly, fighting the tremor of hope in his voice. "It's me."

This was it. Sam was coming back; he had to be. He hadn't used the name 'De' in over a decade save for the times he was so hurt or so sick he was barely lucid. There was no way that he wasn't remembering.

His brother let out a soft noise, flinching away as Dean gently shook his shoulder. Dean fought to keep the slight irrational hurt out of his voice as he continued, talking in low, soothing tones. "Hey. Hey, Sam, c'mon, wake up. Hey. It's me. Wake up; can you do that for me? I'm here…" _I'm here- are_ you _?_

Bright eyes snapped open, gleaming even in the darkness, and the man on the couch managed to get out a single word in a choking gasp.

"Dean?"

Dean's breath caught on something in his throat, a hard lump that he struggled to swallow before answering in a voice almost as weak. "S-Sammy...?" This was it… Sam was coming back.

Sam looked at Dean for a few moments, opening and closing his mouth slowly, and Dean could've sworn that his little brother recognized him. Hope that he'd hardly dared to let himself feel welled up and he reached out to pull the stupid bitch into a hug because _he'd done it;_ they'd _done it..._

But then it was gone. Confusion replaced any recognition that had been in Sam's eyes and Dean froze, slowly realizing that 'Jared' was still in charge.

"Ah… Sorry, Jense-" 'Jared' caught himself. "Dean." He'd started finally calling the hunter by his actual name a few days ago, apparently giving up on him responding to 'Jensen.' "Um, didn't mean to wake you up."

Dean tried not to let it show how disappointed he was, his hopes crushed and then stomped on for good measure. Sam had been so close… "'S okay, Sam. I was awake anyway; couldn't sleep. Bad dream?"

They both already knew the answer to that question and Sam knew that, but he nodded a little anyway as he rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. "Sorry."

Dean waved his hand dismissively, shrugging. "Don't be. I get 'em all the time, it's part of the life." He paused, chewing on the inside of his lip nervously. "So, what was it about?"

"All your talk of demons and monsters has apparently made it's way to my subconscious, that's all." Sam looked away, fidgeting a bit. "No big deal."

"What did you remember, Sam?" He kept his voice quiet, trying to hide the intensity in his tone. He could use this. So Sam hadn't remembered, but he could still use this.

Sam sighed, and Dean could tell he was fighting back the urge to say that he wasn't 'remembering' anything - as there was nothing to be remembered. Except there was. _There was_ , and Dean was gonna make him remember if it was the last thing he ever did, dammit.

Because really, if Sam _didn't_ remember, that failing would _definitely_ be the last thing Dean ever did.

Slowly, Sam spoke. "I-I…" He paused, thinking. "I don't really… it was just a nightmare. I'd done something. Something big." He stopped for a moment, brow furrowed in confusion. "Something, ah… Something _bad_ that I really shouldn't have done. I knew better."

A sick pit formed in Dean's stomach. Sure, he wanted Sam to remember, but… but not like this. He knew what Sam was talking about - of course he did, but he didn't exactly want his brother's massive guilt complex making a reappearance. Especially not now. If - no, _when_ Sam remembered, Dean was hoping it'd be a happy moment for once.

He took in a deep breath. "Sammy. You, uh… You remember someone named…" He hesitated. Last chance to back out… "Ruby?" The chance was gone, and a heavy silence hung in the still night air for a long while.

"Ah, yeah..." Sam slowly nodded, looking unsure of himself. Whatever he had remembered was already starting to fade from his mind as the seconds passed and his conscious mind began to override the memories he saw in his sleep. Dean had to keep him thinking about it, otherwise he'd just forget it all again.

He took a deep breath. "Okay, I need you to focus on this, alright? Try and concentrate on what you saw."

"..Dean."

"You remember Ruby, right? Tell me about her. She lied to you, remember?"

" _Dean_ …"

"I won't go into the details, but she manipulated you. Got you into the whole demon blood thing, yeah?"

"Dean!"

Oh, for fuck's sake..."What?"

Sam sighed tiredly, rubbing a hand over his face. "I know what you're doing, okay? But it wasn't a memory; it was a _dream_. I've already forgotten half of it. I know you're trying to save my life or the world or whatever, but… It wasn't a memory."

"It _was_." Dean frowned, trying to keep from feeling irritated. It was _way_ too early to have this argument again. He needed Sam to focus on the memory, not protest that none of it happened. And honestly, it didn't even seem like he was trying. "Sam, just listen to me. Don't argue. Think back on the dream. It was the seals, right? All but the last one was broken, and you, uh, did the thing you weren't supposed to."

"Dean-"

"Shut up, Sammy," Dean snapped, maybe a little harsher than he meant it to come out. "Just _listen_. You were angry and scared and not really yourself, and you thought killing Lilith was the right thing, so you-"

"Killing who?" Sam raised an eyebrow skeptically, cutting Dean's explanation off.

Dean sighed, fighting the urge to shoot his brother an annoyed look. Awesome. Why did Sam even ask for explanations if he was just gonna shut them down? "Blonde demon chick. White dress. Last seal. You broke it by killing her."

'Jared' frowned a little, blinking once, and Dean knew the other man remembered at least a little of what he'd just told him. Alright, so names didn't always work, but descriptions did. Good to know.

" _Right_?" Dean tried to push down the frustration that was rising in his chest, but he was so done with Sam refusing to even try to remember. "C'mon, remember? Killing Lilith? The last seal? I _know_ you know this, Sammy! Just _think_."

"Dean, I'm telling you," Sam started, rubbing his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, and he looked completely done with the entire conversation."Your theories just made their way into my subconscious. That's it. This is stuff that you've been telling me for weeks, and you know it."

Looking back on it, it was stupid, and immature, and yeah, he should've known better. Actually, Dean was never entirely sure what it was about that last comment that made him lose it like he did. But something about Sam's frustration and disappointment broke through what little self-control Dean had been fighting to hold on to. He was _done_ shielding Sam from his own mistakes, he was done coddling him, and he-

"And you know what I _haven't_ been telling you, Sam?!" The words were out of his mouth before he had even really processed what he was saying, fire flashing in his eyes. "I _haven't_ been making a big deal out of the fact that you _lied_ to me. That you were working with a _demon_ and lying to me about it. And now, out of the fact that it's happening _again_! That even after we started the damn _apocalypse,_ you're still listening to that _demon_ over me!"

Before Sam could even respond, Dean kept talking, voice breaking. "Because Sam, I _told_ you, goddammit! I _begged_ you to stop. And you wouldn't listen. You wouldn't believe me that Ruby was bad news. Just like you wouldn't believe me now."

Sam stared at him for a few moments, clearly not having expected the sudden outburst, before he spoke quietly, "Calm down, Dean."

Dean scoffed, muttering to himself, " _Calm down_ , he says." He looked up at him, his voice rising again. " _Dammit_ , Sam, I _knew_ something was off with you ever since I got back from the pit! And I never brought it up with you now 'cause I didn't wanna hurt you, but maybe that's what you need!"

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but Dean didn't let him. "I mighta started this?" He shook his head a little and pointed at Sam, his hand shaking. " _You_ finished it." He swallowed angrily, hot tears stinging his eyes. "And now I'm left to pick up the pieces alone. Naturally."

" _Jensen_." Sam paused, undoubtedly unsure how to handle the situation. "...None of that is real. What you think I did, or didn't do, or _whatever_ … It didn't happen. Take a deep breath." His tone was calm - way too calm for Dean's liking. He didn't understand; he wouldn't. Every time Dean tried to get through to him, Sam just pushed him away.

Dean blinked back the burning tears in his eyes, glaring at him as the anger kept rising up. "Fine. Fuck off, Sam. Stick your head in the sand until Lucifer weasels his way into your stubborn head; I don't give a damn anymore." He stood, turning around and starting to walk back towards the guest room. "Maybe I'm just tired of this. All of this. Maybe I just want it to _stop_."

He heard the couch creak quietly as Sam stood up, walking after him. "Hey. Look, I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry you think that I…" There was a pause. "Um, started the apocalypse or whatever, or that I betrayed you somehow but… Dean, I _didn't._ "

Dean stopped, turning around to face his brother as he started to calm down just a little. "I don't care that you broke the damn seal, Sam! You seriously think _that's_ what I'm pissed about? It's not even the demon blood."

"Then what is it?" Sam looked at him and frowned, clearly not getting it. "What is it that you think I did that's so terrible? Because I didn't do it."

"We were _brothers_. Brothers, Sam. We were a team. And... and yeah, we made mistakes." He let out a quiet scoff. "Hell, I've made _way_ more than my fair share." He looked up at Sam, trying to keep the pain out of his voice. "I just can't believe that things started to go South, and you didn't _trust_ me. Pissed at myself, too, for not lettin' you know you _could_."

Dean turned away, rubbing his face and wiping his eyes at the same time. "I mean, I thought we could handle anything. Y'know? Even the apocalypse wouldn't be so bad. It'd be doable. Because I'd be doing it _with you_. Guess things don't always turn out like you want 'em."

"Jensen, er… Dean. Whatever. It didn't happen." He sighed. "But I'm sorry anyway. I do trust you, okay? I mean, come on… I left you alone with my kid. I'm sorry that - that I'm doing such a terrible job at handling you being here," Sam paused, before adding, "and for not listening, even if it's not real."

"Yeah." Dean found himself shaking his head, his voice barely audible. "Yeah, Sam. I'm sorry, too." He let out a heavy sigh. "Maybe if I hadn't driven you away, after… made you feel like such crap... Maybe then we'd be closer. Maybe you'd remember and we'd all be back home by now. Maybe you'd _want_ to remember."

"Dean…" Sam hesitated, clearly wanting to put a reassuring hand on Dean's shoulder but thinking better of it and pulling back. "You haven't done anything wrong, okay? There's just... nothing for me to remember." When Dean let out a small scoff, Sam's mouth twitched in a grimace of sympathy and frustration alike. "It's just... been a long couple of days. You've been a right pain in the neck, but… None of this is your fault."

Fuck it. Sam being nice to him was more than he could take. He'd almost prefer a screaming match at this point. "Yeah, but it is, Sammy. More than you know." _One job. That's all I had._ One _job._

"...Job?" When Sam responded, Dean realized he had spoken the last part aloud, even though he hadn't meant to. "What job? Dean…" Sam took a small, hesitant step forward. "It's okay."

But Dean wasn't really listening anymore. "Take. Care. Of Sammy." He could practically hear John's voice in his head even as he spoke the words himself. God knows he'd heard them often enough."That's it. All I had to do." He swallowed to steady himself before repeating what he had said earlier. "One job."

Sam shook his head. "Dean. You haven't… failed to take care of me, or whatever. I'm right here, and I'm fine." When Dean still wouldn't meet his gaze, Sam's tone hardened a little, adopting a commanding edge. "Look at me, Dean. I'm _fine_. It's not real."

"It was cause of Dad at first, y'know?" He let out a soft laugh, his voice cracking. "But ever since I carried you outta the house when we were kids... I _knew_ it was more than that. I _knew_ it. It was just my job. Still is."

'Jared' tried one more time, but his voice was sad and resigned. "Dean… It's not real."

"What's the point of anything if I can't keep my own little brother safe?" Dean tried to turn away, ashamed of his display of weakness, but Sam's strong, warm hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"I _am_ safe, Dean," 'Jared' told him, pity coloring in his big brown puppy dog eyes. "May not be your brother, but… Dean, you haven't done anything wrong."

Dean allowed himself half a moment of comfort, let himself look into the face staring down at him- _so much like Sam's_ \- for a split second. And then he pulled away, shrugging out of the grip and shaking his head. "Even if you don't remember it, Sam. This is my fault. And…" He glanced up at his brother again, not even caring about the raw pain and guilt shining in his wet eyes. "And I'm so damn sorry."

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 **So there you go! Yes, we are cruel. Yes, we do know. Please tell us what you thought in the reviews! -Mimzy and Pixie**


	16. Boulevard of Broken Dreams

**Hey, everyone! Here's the latest installment, just past our deadline! It is a lot longer than the last one, if that makes up for it…? We really are doing our best to get these chapters out for you guys, thanks for being so understanding when we're late by a day or two. And thank you so much to all the folks who've been leaving comments, it really makes our day!**

 **No particular warnings for this chapter… WE PROMISE MORE ACTION IS COMING!**

 ** _Disclaimer:_ We do not own _Supernatural._**

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" **Boulevard of Broken Dreams" - Green Day**

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Dean walked stiffly into the kitchen the next morning, trying his best not to think too hard about the events of last night. He couldn't believe he had snapped at Sam like that, especially when the guy didn't even remember what he'd done wrong. On second thought, that might be better… maybe Sam wouldn't be able to remember his outburst after the memory loss thing wore off. The knot of guilt in the pit of his stomach tightened a little, but he pushed it back down, pulling his mind back to the present. Nothing he could do about it now, he guessed.

He glanced at Scott, who was already sitting at the table sipping a glass of chocolate milk, little legs swinging above the floor. "Mornin', kiddo." With a small grunt of effort, he lowered himself to a chair across the table, propping the crutches up against the wall. Only another week or so more of them. Honestly, even if this was all a dream, Dean couldn't wait.

He'd already been staying at Sam's house for over a week, almost two, and he could tell Ruby wasn't happy he'd been hanging around that long. It'd been close to two _weeks_ , and the closest he'd gotten to getting his brother back had ended with him yelling at the guy, which probably hadn't helped convince Sam that what Dean was saying was real.

"Morning, Dean," Scott grinned at him. The kid looked a little more tired than usual, but was clearly his usual, cheery self. The way kids could just carry on with their lives oblivious to the shitstorm going down around them would never cease to amaze Dean. In a way, he was almost jealous.

Sam walked into the room holding a cup of coffee. The atmosphere immediately stiffened, as if the room itself was holding its breath waiting to see what would happen next. Dean could feel Sam's gaze on his back, but he couldn't bring himself to look at his brother, much less meet his eyes. He fixed his gaze firmly on the table, scratching a fingernail over the grooves of the wood grain. Anything to keep his eyes off his brother.

The tense silence stretched over the room until Dean finally felt Sam's eyes leave him, as if the other man had given up. Somehow, Dean didn't feel like he'd 'won' anything.

Sam set his cup of coffee down and started rummaging through the fridge, and Dean glanced back at him while the other man's back was turned, chewing on the inside of his lip nervously. His brother grabbed the full plate of leftover waffles from yesterday's breakfast and setting it on the counter.

As Sam opened the cabinet door to get the plates, Scott spoke up. "Can I have Lucky Charms, Dad?" He looked up at his father hopefully. "Please? There's one bowl left; I know it."

Sam raised an eyebrow at Scott's decision to choose cereal over waffles, but set the plates down on the counter. He walked back to the kitchen to grab the jug of milk, setting it down on the table, and then pulled out a box of Lucky Charms from the cabinet. He poured the cereal into a bowl and poured milk over it, grabbing a spoon and sticking it in the cereal. He set the bowl in front of Scott with a plate under it to catch any spills if the milk sloshed, before he picked up his coffee mug from off the counter again.

The kid took a large bite of his breakfast, chewing and glancing between the two of them. "So… Why were you two fighting?"

Sam had been taking a sip of coffee when Scott had asked, and he almost choked on it. He coughed a little, trying to recover, eyes watery from the scalding liquid burning his throat. "Wh-What?"

 _Nice poker face, Sammy,_ Dean couldn't help but think. Brothers or not, speaking or not, they were in this together, although it looked like Dean was gonna have to carry the lie. "Huh?" He blinked, looking supremely innocent. "We aren't... what are you talking about?"

But apparently Scott was taking no prisoners. "Last night. You were arguing. Why?" The child looked at them with all the scrutiny of a trained interrogator… then turned back to his cereal and dug through the oats with his sticky fingers to come up with a handful of marshmallow charms.

Sam frowned briefly at the boy's eating habits but apparently decided to pick his battles, instead going back to fixing his and Dean's own breakfast. "...Scott, what were you doing up that late?"

Scott shrugged, stuffing the marshmallows into his mouth, neon dye collecting on his face. "You woke me up."

"We weren't arguing," Dean said with a smirk as he took a swig of coffee. "We were loudly disagreeing." Sam shot Dean a look that just made his smirk grow more.

"It sounds the same to me," Scott said, frowning as he tried to understand the intricacies of adult interaction.

Dean waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. It _sounds_ the same, but there's a big difference."

Sam nodded in agreement, smiling reassuringly. "What Dean said. Everything's fine, okay, kiddo?"

For a moment, it looked like Scott was going to accept the lie and the comforting smile, but then the boy frowned again, tearing his eyes away from Sam to frown at Dean. "Then... why was Dean crying?"

 _Shit._ Dean's face reddened and he scowled defensively. "I was _not!_ "

Scott raised his eyebrows. "You sounded like you were."

Before Dean could say something to the kid that he'd probably regret, Sam jumped in to his defense, shooting him a sideways warning glance that said he knew _exactly_ what was on the tip of Dean's tongue. "Dean was just… really tired last night, that's all."

It was slightly irritating, but Dean conceded that yeah, it was probably better that Sam had been the one to respond to that. "Yeah. And so were you. You probably imagined it. I don't cry, dude."

Scott wrinkled his nose. "Nuh-uh. Was not. You're the one imagining that you didn't cry. Dad musta been tired though too, cause after you went to bed, he looked really, really sad too."

"I _don't_ cry," Dean felt the need to reiterate, even though no one really seemed to be listening to (or believing) him.

Sam coughed uncomfortably, floundering for words. "Scott… Um… Look, you sure you weren't just dreaming it? You were probably dreaming…" He nodded. "Just a bad dream, kiddo."

"Nuh-uh!" Scott scowled, getting frustrated. "Wasn't a dream."

The kid's stubbornness made Dean think of how Sam had been at that age, and he couldn't help the small smirk that played across his face. "Was too."

Scott seemed less amused. "Was not!" He brightened in triumph as a thought struck him with 'irrefutable' evidence. "I stubbed my toe on the kitchen table when I got up to see why you were up! And everyone knows you can't feel pain in dreams."

Dean almost snorted, looking down at the myriad of healing injuries he'd managed to collect. He would debate that. "It was dream pain," he told the boy. "You only dreamed you felt it. You didn't _really_."

"What Dean said," Sam agreed, nodding. "Don't worry about it, kiddo."

Scott narrowed his eyes, looking up at them suspiciously. "You both are lying," he deduced after a few moments. "Mom's gonna yell at both of you for lying. She doesn't like it when I do that. You're gonna get in _trouble_."

Dean held back a laugh, but the kid's face was so serious it was a real challenge. "Are we now?"

"Well…" Sam seemed to think something over, gesturing to Dean. " _He_ might, but...Your mom _likes_ me."

Dean pretended to be offended, looking over at Sam, but he couldn't help from grinning. "Hey!"

Sam grinned innocently back, and a warm rush filled Dean's chest at the hints of forgiveness. "Just _saying_."

Scott frowned at the fact that neither seemed too afraid of the oncoming wrath of 'Mommy,' but shrugged, going back to his cereal. Sam finished warming up his and Dean's waffles and such, setting the syrup on the table and putting Dean's plate in front of him, before sitting down with his own.

Just when Dean thought that the kid had finally dropped the subject, Scott looked back up again, a curious glint in his big eyes. "So… What wasn't real?"

"Huh?" Sam stiffened slightly.

"Dad kept saying something wasn't real," Scott said, looking at Dean and then back at Sam. "And it wasn't a dream. I _heard_ you."

"Scott…" Sam sighed quietly, likely disappointed that their attempts at getting the boy off the subject had failed. "It's nothing you need to worry about. Okay?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "What Sam said." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and from the corner of his eye, Dean saw 'Jared' go a little stiffer.

"Sam?" Scott sat up a little straighter in his chair, looking up at them with a sudden interest. "What's he gotta do with any of this? Is he here? Can I meet him? Why didn't he wanna talk to you before?"

Sam shot Dean a glare as the questions flew - _see what you did?!_ He cleared his throat. "No... he's not here."

"I just…" Dean swallowed, shaking his head a little as he tried to cover his slip. "I'm just tired, is all. It was a mistake."

"So…" Scott nodded once, seemingly understanding. "Tired like you were last night when you and Dad argued, and you cried?"

Dean huffed quietly in annoyance. The kid really wasn't going to let that go, was he? "If I say yeah will you drop it?"

"I dunno," the kid shrugged a little. "Why were you fighting anyway? I thought you two were family."

"Scott…" Sam started, but Dean could tell he didn't know what else to say. Not like he did either.

"It's complicated," he finally stated, swallowing.

The poor kid hesitated, fidgeting in his seat a little, before quietly admitting, "I don't like it when Dad's upset." The fidgeting increased. "He and Mom fight sometimes."

"Yeah. Grownups fight sometimes." Dean nodded once. "But it's okay."

Sam sighed. "Hey… Everything's fine, okay?" he soothed. "Don't worry about it, kiddo."

Scott seemed to brighten a little. "So… You're not mad at each other anymore?" Dean discreetly glanced to the side to see Sam's reaction. He'd been wondering that himself.

If anything, his brother seemed confused by the question. "What? Course not… I'm not angry at Dean, Scott. Never was. We just… were tired, that's all." Typical. Sam wasn't gonna be mad at him because he 'wasn't right in the head' or some shit. Still, Dean couldn't stop the relief that washed over him to hear those words coming out of Sam's mouth- even if he wasn't exactly Sam at the moment.

Dean nodded once. "And I'm not mad at your dad. I was mad at myself for making a mistake, and I was tired, and I took it out on him." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, avoiding the glance Sam shot in his direction.

"Why'd you do that?" Scott asked, looking indignant and a little hurt. "If it was your fault…"

Sam cut in. "It was _no one's_ fault, okay? It was all just a big misunderstanding. Everything's alright."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, though he didn't really agree with the statement that it hadn't been anyone's fault. "Your dad's right; listen to him."

Sam glanced at him again, before smiling at Scott reassuringly. "Course I'm right."

Scott didn't seem entirely convinced. "So nothing's wrong then?"

Dean glanced over at Sam and then quickly changed the subject. "What's _wrong_ is that your dad's eating waffles with friggin' _fruit_ on top." He rolled his eyes, grabbing the syrup for his own waffle and passing one to Scott despite Sam's cut off comments that the kid had already had marshmallows for breakfast and he didn't need waffles, too. "That is, like, a crime against everything good."

"Hey!" Sam feigned offense. "Shut up. It's a good combination."

Scott laughed, and Dean smirked victoriously. "Yeah, right. That's ruining a perfectly good waffle!" And with that remark, he promptly proceeded to drown his own waffle in a small lake of syrup.

Sam wrinkled his nose as he looked over at Dean's plate with disgust. "You're going to die of diabetes long before your time, man. I'm not even kidding."

Dean snorted. He doubted he'd live long enough for diabetes to get to him, really. But he decided that might not be the best comment to make in his current situation, opting to leave it be instead.

Scott watched Dean dig in too, but with less disgust and more a mixture of awe and jealousy. "Why can he have that much syrup and I can't?"

"Because I'm not in charge of him," Sam answered, looking like he almost wished he was at that current moment so he could save Dean from killing himself with sugar. "And he better be grateful for that, otherwise he'd be going on a diet."

Oh, God. Yeah, it _was_ a good thing Sam wasn't in charge of him. With a mischievous smirk, Dean leaned over the table and poured a generous amount of syrup over Scott's plate, grinning at Sam. "Hey, you're not in charge of me." He shrugged innocently to his brother, winking over at Scott even as he did so.

Sam huffed a little. "Really? _Really_ , Dean?" He shook his head, rolling his eyes. "You're a rebellious little punk."

"And you love it." Dean grinned wickedly, giving the kid sitting across from him a high-five.

For those few moments, everything was awesome. He had his brother, or close to it, he had the kid he had grown to… to care about, and he was forgiven. So yeah, maybe it was stupid, but Dean let himself enjoy those few moments. He let himself think things might actually…

Scott looked at the two of them innocently with those bright eyes of his. "Can Dean stay with us forever?"

The grin slid from Dean's face like water as his breath caught in his throat. Scott was just an illusion, right? So why did the question hit as hard as it did? It shouldn't matter. The kid wasn't even real...

And this time Sam didn't jump in to save Dean from the hard question, clearing his throat and averting his eyes.

"Forever's a long time, kiddo," Dean told him quietly after a beat, not sure what else to say.

"So?" Scott clearly didn't understand why a man he'd only known for basically a week couldn't just come and move in with them permanently. "You two are family. And I'm Dad's family. So we're all family. And family sticks together." He looked up at his father with the same puppy-dog look Sam would have at that age when he wanted something. The same look that Sam was still somehow able to pull off. "Please, Dad? Can Dean stay?"

Sam opened and closed his mouth a few times as he tried to figure out what to say, and Dean's first thought was that his brother was finally getting a taste of his own medicine. It was about time he found out how hard it was to say no to a face like that.

Dean grabbed his crutches and stood stiffly, pushing his chair back. "It's complicated." Yeah, okay, so maybe his tone was a little harsh, but he honestly just wanted to leave this whole mess of a conversation behind him.

And damn it all if that kid didn't stare up at Dean with the biggest fucking look of confusion and hurt shining on his face. It was like Dean had told the kid that no, he was never gonna be an astronaut and that Santa Claus was a phony rolled up in one. "Y-You mean you don't _want_ to stay? I thought you and Dad were friends..."

Sam glanced at Dean, his expression unreadable, and then back at the boy. "We are…" he started.

"And I do," Dean finished for him. "It's… it's complicated."

"Why is it complicated?" Scott asked, because obviously, giving Dean a break here was just too easy. "We have enough space for you to stay. Why can't you just stay? Please?"

"Scott, your mom would never allow it anyway, and he has a life of his own," Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck. "He just can't stay forever, okay? I'm sorry."

"I need to get back to work," Dean added. "Helping people, y'know."

Sam nodded, putting a gentle hand on Scott's shoulder. "He can still visit, alright?"

But Scott was far from consoled, jerking his shoulder away from Sam's grip, pouting and wiping his nose on his sleeve. "But I want him to _stay._ Not just _visit_."

"Nah, no you don't," Dean said with a half smile, going for a weak attempt at a joke. "My feet reek."

"So?" Scott asked, not understanding that the comment had been a joke. "Dad's do too...I just wan' you to stay." He looked up at Dean with those stupid eyes again. " _Please._ "

"Scott…" Sam started, whether to warn or comfort, Dean didn't know.

He turned away, unable to look Scott in the eye as he spoke. "This isn't a discussion." From the corner of his eye, Dean could see Sam cast him a questioning look. He'd never been this firm with Scott before on anything.

"How come his work is more important than staying with family?" Scott demanded. "Why can't he just get new work here with us?"

Dean shook his head. "Trust me. You don't want me to stay. And you wouldn't understand if I tried to explain why."

"But Dad wants you to stay though. Don't you, Dad?" He looked at his father, sniffling a little before wiping his nose with his sleeve.

Dean glanced over at Sam, curious and maybe even a little hopeful despite himself. It wasn't his brother, this man wasn't his brother, but… He still found himself biting the inside of his cheek as he waited.

"O-Of course, but…" Sam stammered, taken aback as he floundered with the question, face flushed red. "Of course I do, I just… he can't..."

Yeah. Yeah, that's what Dean had thought the answer was gonna be. And he'd been expecting it, sure, but he'd be a liar if he tried to say it didn't hurt a little. Still, he forced his voice to be firm and not to waver. " _We_ can't. And if you say 'why not,' so help me God…"

"Why can't he though? Work's not that special-" Scott started. But Dean wasn't hearing any of it.

"Because I said so." With that, he hobbled out of the kitchen and back to the guest room. He was tired of arguing with a kid that wasn't even real; a kid who was way too much like Sammy had been for his own good.

* * *

Jared stood up when Dean walked out in protest. "Dean, c'mon, it -" He stopped when he saw that Dean wasn't coming back to the table, sitting back down again in defeat. Great. Just great.

And he wasn't about to get off the hook easy with Scott either, if his son's glare was any indication. Because this was all his fault, wasn't it? Yeah, yeah, he knew the answer by now. It always was. Even in 'Dean's' dream world, everything that went wrong was his fault. Typical.

Jared let out a weary sigh as Scott started to complain."'S not fair. He wants to stay; I _know_ it! Why won't you let him?"

"Don't use that tone with me, Scott," Jared warned, frowning a little. He loved his kid, and he understood his frustration, but Jared was still the parent. "We're all tired, alright? It just won't work out."

While Jared would have preferred it if Scott dropped the subject, his son didn't. "You're being _mean_. _He's family_. Why won't you let him stay?"

Jared set his jaw. Yes, he understood why his son was upset, but he couldn't just let him get away with that tone of voice. If Scott kept this attitude up, Jared was going to have to confiscate his favorite toy again. That worked to get the point across, usually. "I'm not being mean, Scott. I'm trying to be practical. I know you don't understand right now, but I promised your mom that he'd only be a few days. It's been almost two weeks. He can't stay that much longer." He forced his voice to be firm, knowing it was the truth. Soon Jensen was going to have to leave, and Jared had to accept that fact just as much as Scott did.

Scott made a face. "Why doesn't mom like him?"

Knowing there was no real way he could deny the accusing question, Jared sighed. "Because… She's just having a rough time right now. We all are." He shook his head. "I can't just adopt Dean, Scott. I couldn't put that sort of stress on your mom. I just… I don't know what to do right now."

The boy folded his arms, determined. "Well we're all the family he has. And family sticks together." If only it were that easy.

"This whole thing…" He sighed. "This is a whole lot more complicated than you realize, Scott. You'll understand someday."

"How's it complicated? I'm big enough to know, Dad." No, no, he really wasn't. Not when Jensen's story included psychopath doctors and torture.

However, Scott wasn't going to let this go, and Jared knew it. He let out a resigned sigh. "You know how I help sick people?"

"Yeah?"

"He's kinda like them. And him staying here… It's not really helping much." The explanation was honest, but short and without any details. All Jared could do was pray that Scott accepted the answer and didn't question it.

Scott frowned slightly in concern, but then his face lit up as an idea struck him. "If Dean's sick, why doesn't he go to the place you work to get better?" The kid was practically bouncing up and down with enthusiasm. "Then he can come back and stay!"

Jared cleared his throat uncomfortably. This was a conversation he'd hoped he wouldn't have to have with Scott. "He… he was there, but then… Stuff happened, okay?" Remembering Jensen's story from earlier, he added with a small smile, "And he fought a grizzly bear."

"So when will he be better?" Scott asked, clearly still worried.

Ah, that was the million dollar question, wasn't it? If he had an answer, his life would be a whole heck of a lot easier right about now.

"I really don't know," Jared admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "But it's okay."

"Not okay!" Scott protested, not liking his father's answer. "You have to make him better!"

"I'm trying," he said, wincing internally. If that wasn't a guilt trip, Jared didn't know what was.

"But you help people," Scott said, staring up at his dad wide-eyed. "'S what you do. Why can't you help him?"

The kid was still young, too young for this. He was too young to understand that Daddy couldn't fix everything with a kiss and a Spongebob bandaid. The thought of a problem Daddy had no idea how to deal with… that was just unimaginable. But Jared really didn't have anything else to tell him. He took a deep breath. "Because... I don't know what to do." He swallowed hard at the confession but forced himself to continue. "I really don't. And I'm working on it, just…"

God, this was too much too fast, he could tell. For Scott and him both. Jared let out a weary sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face as he cast his mind around for some way to change the subject. "Don't you have... homework or something?"

"Dean helped me with it." _Of course. Back to Dean._ But Scott didn't seem to want to push the earlier topic; instead he looked down, upset. "I really like him, Daddy. Why is he always so sad?"

"Because…" Jared started, not really sure how to proceed. "He misses his brother. A lot. I can't give him his brother, no matter how much he wants me to. Okay? Just… leave it at that."

Scott scowled sadly at the floor. "Sam's a meanie head."

Sam wasn't real. He wasn't a real person, and he wasn't Jared. So why did Scott's anger make a pang of guilt shoot through Jared's chest?

Jared sighed for what felt like the thousandth time that morning as he pushed the strange guilt from his mind, the questions with it. He'd deal with that later. Eventually. "Yeah, yeah, he is." He stood up, walking over to Scott and kneeling down in front of his chair as he pulled his kid into a hug. "Let's just forget about it, okay?"

And it looked like he could still do that right, if nothing else. Scott hugged him back. "Okay."

He had his son; he had his wife. He had a job and everything he'd set out to get. So why did this all of a sudden feel… wrong?

* * *

 **So let us know what you think, and if all goes well, we'll see you back here next week! On time maybe! -Mimzy and Pixie**


	17. The Things We Lost in the Fire

**Hey! We've finally reached the point where stuff's actually happening again! Whoohoo!**

 _ **Warnings for this chapter:**_ **Angst, some blood and maybe slight gore, sadness, and more angst. Overall, this is a very, very angsty chapter, so be warned. There's also just a little blood, in case we hadn't mentioned that already. Oh, and flashbacks too.**

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ **We do not own Supernatural, but Scott is belongs to us.**

* * *

" **Things We Lost in the Fire" - Bastille**

* * *

Jared walked into his son's bedroom to tuck him in, perching on the edge of the bed. It was already forty-five minutes past his bedtime, only because Jensen had managed to convince Jared to let the kid stay up later to play video games. Scott had thoroughly enjoyed beating Jensen every time, and Jensen had seemed to enjoy going easy on the boy so he could. Wearily, he smiled. Scott might not be tired, but _he_ sure was.

"Have a good day, kiddo?" he asked as he pulled the blankets up over his son. The kid would never admit it, but he loved that old firetruck blankie Jared and Jess had bought him as a baby. Jared highly doubted he could even fall asleep without it snuggled close.

"Yeah," Scott confirmed with a yawn. "Dean told me a story and showed me Bon Jovi." At Jared's chuckle, he clarified. "They rock. On occasion."

Sensing a long and involved story most likely involving Dean and a battle with… oh, he didn't know, little green men from Mars, Jared decided not to ask, just smiling a little and nodding his agreement. "On occasion. What story did he tell you? Was it his mighty fight with the grizzly bear again?"

Scott shook his head. "No, he told me that one yesterday. This one was about how to be a 'lady-killer.' We're gonna work on my 'smoulder.'"

Jared's eyes went wide with shock as his son dropped phrases that should not _by any means_ be coming out of a six year old's mouth. " _What?"_ But really, with Dean, it figured. Jared rolled his eyes. "Of course he did."

"Don't _worry_ , he's not gonna take me to the bar or anything," Scott assured him. "He says even as good as he is, my fake ID might not be believable for a few years."

For a few- "Wait, fake ID?"

Scott laughed, hazel eyes twinkling. "I'm joking. He _told_ me that'd make you freak out. It was just as funny as he said."

"Yeah, well. You almost gave me a heart attack." He shook his head, smiling slightly. "No more of that, okay? Don't need to be sending me into an early grave."

Scott nodded, shifting positions so he was lying on his side, and pulling the blankets over his shoulder and up to his neck. " _I_ won't play any more jokes. Dean is out of my control though."

"I think he's out of everyone's control," Jared agreed. "Sleep tight, kiddo." He reached over and ruffled his son's hair, smiling a little.

Scott sat up again and stretched his arms up for a goodnight hug, repeating their usual phrase. "An' I'll see you in the mornin' when the sun comes up."

Jared smiled softly as he gave his son a gentle hug. "Sweet dreams, Scooter."

"'M not a scooter!" the boy giggled sleepily.

He chuckled, too, as he kissed the top of Scott's head. "See you tomorrow, kiddo."

"G'night, Daddy," Scott smiled up at his father tiredly, watching him stand up and walk to the door, before he closed his eyes as Jared shut off the light. "Love you."

"Love you, too," Jared smiled as he softly closed the door to Scott's room. A small pang shot through his chest, an urge to run back and hold the boy close, but he pushed it away. Nothing was wrong.

* * *

Dean rubbed his eyes in frustration and exhaustion as he closed the door to his own room. Something was wrong. He could just _feel_ it. He just… He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was, but it made his skin crawl.

Before he had anymore time to think about the feeling in his gut, Crowley suddenly appeared in front of him. "Oi, Winchester!"

He jumped instinctively. Awesome, this was getting better and better by the second. "Son of a bitch... Not now, Crowley. I've had a day." And it looked like this was just the start.

"Well, you're about to have a bit of a night too!" Crowley hissed, and Dean's worry grew worse. "Lucifer's a bit…" The demon paused, searching for the right word he was looking for. "...Well, frankly, he's having a bit of a tantrum. Jared's been gone far too long, and he's getting rather impatient. You need to get yourself and your idiot brother out of here - now."

 _Shit-_ Dean had known this was coming, things had been far too peaceful to last for long. But it wasn't until Crowley's next words that he fully felt his blood run cold. "And leave that stupid hallucination of a child here; you don't need him slowing you down."

No. Scott might not be 'real' in the real world, but the kid was real here, and… And Dean couldn't just leave him to face _Lucifer_. This was a _kid,_ this was _Sam's_ kid, this… And damn it all if Dean hadn't let himself fall a little in love with the image of his younger baby brother with a normal life. Still, he forced an expression of disdain onto his face, answering with a scoff. "Try explaining that to _Sam_. He won't leave Scott behind."

Crowley only snorted, having no sympathy. "Tough luck. You need to get Sam out of here. Quickly. You don't have much time. You should consider yourself _lucky_ I even bothered to show up here and warn you in the first place!"

"Right." It was time to get his head back in the game. "Right. So Lucifer's on his way now, or...?"

"No," the demon answered shortly. "Alastair. Ruby's most likely left the house already. He'll be here _very_ soon, Dean. He's coming for Sam, and he's got very _specific_ instructions to make him remember. I suggest…" he kept talking, but Dean wasn't listening, still focused on one word.

Alastair.

 _Alastair_ , driving giant fish hooks through his hands and feet, stringing him up in Hell on the days when the Rack had just gotten too _dull_ …

 _Alastair_ , pressing the scalpel into his own hand, guiding his arm as he tore into flesh-not-flesh, stepping back to watch approvingly as Dean took up the blade himself, anything, _anything_ to stop the pain…

 _Alastair_ , who he had tortured, who Sam had _killed_ , who had come back _and done it all over again, oh God, he was back -_ standing over Dean, blade in his hand again, and pain, and pain, and _pain make it stop-_

"C-Crowley," he faintly heard himself choke. "I-I… I _can't_ …"

"You can't _what_? Protect your little brother who isn't in any position to protect himself?" Crowley scoffed, unsympathetic, although, really, had Dean expected anything else? "Alastair's at his weakest, Dean. He can feel pain, and he can be killed! Time to man up, Winchester." The demon smirked. "Make Daddy proud for once, maybe."

Dean managed to pull himself together enough to glare, voice only wavering slightly as he pushed the images - _memories_ \- out of his mind. "F-Fuck off. Zap this damn cast off my leg and get the hell outta here." His leg was pretty much completely healed at this point anyway, he decided, and he sure as hell couldn't fight as a gimp. He wasn't even using the crutches much anymore, for the most part. Crowley wasn't planning on helping if his previous track record was anything to go by, but he could at least be useful before he poofed out.

Crowley rolled his eyes, but did as Dean demanded. The hunter winced slightly as he rolled his weak ankle joint to test it. Still painful - yeah, apparently the cast was there for a reason - but he'd done a lot more on a lot less. He would make it work.

He had to.

For a moment, it seemed like Crowley was about to leave, but he stopped, seeming to remember something. "Oh - and if it makes it any better, I've found the angel. I'll contact you later with the details, if you survive that long." Dean opened his mouth to demand an immediate answer on Cas's location, but Crowley continued. "Have fun now, and do remember that the fate of the entire world and your little brother's safety is in your hands. So, you know, don't mess this up." With a smirk, the demon vanished, leaving Dean to handle the guy who'd tortured him for decades without even the help of his friend or his brother.

No fucking pressure.

"Goddamn sonofabitch," Dean swore under his breath. Once they all were out of the Matrix and safe, he was going to kill Crowley himself.

But no. No, Crowley wasn't the main issue right now. He had to focus. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Dean let years of hunter training take the lead as he strained to pick up on any small hint of sound.

Silence.

Well, that was never a good sign.

Dean hurried up the stairs to the floor with the family's bedrooms, wincing at the weight on his bad foot but ignoring the pain. "Sam? Scott?" Because damn it, he didn't care what Crowley said. Scott was real here, and Dean wasn't about to just leave the kid to die.

As if the boy had been summoned by his thoughts, Scott was suddenly there in front of him and Dean had to stop short before he barrelled into the small figure and knocked him off his feet. "Dean? Where's Daddy? What's going on?"

"I... I dunno," Dean lied, mind racing to come up with a plan. He was about to grab the kid and just make a break for it, find Sam and get out, but a loud noise from outside changed his mind. "Stay here, okay? Go to your room, lock the door. Don't come out til I say."

To his credit, the clearly terrified boy managed a shaky nod, hurrying to follow Dean's orders without question. "O-Okay…"

And then a scream of pain rang throughout the house. _Sam_.

He cursed loudly as he rushed down the stairs, swearing once more for good measure. Scott would be safe in his room. Dean hoped. Safer than he would be with Dean, that's for sure.

His ankle nearly gave out on the polished kitchen floor, buckling beneath him, but he grabbed the table for support and forced himself to keep going. A stab of heat shot up his leg. " _Sam-"_ A spur of instinct had him grabbing the butcher's knife from the table. Any weapon was better than being defenseless, and Alastair was practically human now.

Another shout, this one clearly from outside. Dean crossed the last few yards to the door before the scream had even fully faded from the air.

 _Sammy-_ The sight that greeted Dean broke something inside him, the small calm he'd managed to gather shattering.

Alastair was the first thing Dean saw, just as Dean's memory had conjured him up in his nightmares. The demon's cruel smirk flashed from across the yard, where he held Sam by the neck, pinning him to a tree. Sam was struggling futilely, desperate to break away. But in his amnesiac state, he wasn't getting anywhere. A thin line of bright blood welled up across his neck as Alastair dug his dagger in viciously, not too deep, but deep enough to hurt like hell.

"Dean." Alastair looked up at him, beady eyes gleaming. "I was wondering when you'd join the party."

Dean let out a low growl, narrowing his eyes. He scanned the terrain, fighting to keep an outer cool as inside he was panicking, looking frantically for a way to get the demon away from Sam. "Let him go, you bastard. This is between you and me."

"D-Dean-?" Sam tried to get out, but an elbow to his bleeding throat shut him up with a grunt.

The demon only snorted, shaking his head. "Didn't I say that I'd always wanted to… _really_ get acquainted with your brother? And here we all are, just the three of us."

Dean drew his knife, preparing for a fight. However, there wasn't much he could do until Sam was away from Alastair. "I'm warning you one more time. You let Sam go. Or I kill you." He twirled the blade between his fingers, looking as confident as he could manage. "Your choice."

Alastair huffed disbelievingly. "I don't think you're in much position to threaten." The demon lowered the knife from Sam's neck, allowing the man to relax slightly, only to delicately trail the blade down his chest. The thin fabric of Sam's T-shirt split like paper as blood started to well up from the shallow wound. Still, Sam only hissed, closing his eyes tightly against the pain. "Every move you make could affect your baby brother, couldn't it?"

A twist of the blade drew a pained gasp from Sam and Dean spared a terrified glance at his brother. "Sam, don't worry." Alastair let out a barking laugh at that, but Dean ignored him, continuing, "I got this." He turned his attention back to the threat. "How about I drop the knife, you drop yours."

Alastair raised an eyebrow, pressing the knife deeper into Sam's chest. "Now why would I do that?"

'Jared' let out a soft noise, eyes still squeezed tightly shut. "Please…" he begged. "Lemme go…"

But Dean wasn't listening to his terrified baby brother; he wasn't gonna listen. He couldn't afford to right now, had to focus on the threat, had to focus on Alastair, had to... "Because then I might spare your sorry demonic ass," he retorted. But no, that was a lie. "Or at least make your death short."

The demon laughed low in his throat at the threat, sending chills running down Dean's spine. "You can't kill me, Dean. Not even here, where I'm a bit more… vulnerable. You don't have what it _takes_ , never did." The demon's grin widened as he saw the way Dean stiffened, knuckles going white on the knife handle as he clutched his weapon tightly. "What would your father say, letting me even get a hold of Little Bro in the first place, hmm? So much for that one job, hmm?"

"Dean," Sam looked at him, fear shining in his widened eyes. "W-Where's Scott?" Pinned to a tree by Alastair and his brother was still only thinking about his kid.

Dean wasn't going to let himself fall into Alastair's trap that easily. He didn't take his eyes off the demon. "Scott's safe." Because he wouldn't let himself think of any alternative.

Alastair let loose another laugh, this one somehow worse than the first. "Is he safe, Dean? All holed up in his room… Anything could happen." Before Dean could even process what Alastair could possibly mean, the demon snapped his fingers, the crack supernaturally resounding like a gunshot.

"What was that?" Sam started struggling even harder, seeming to understand that Alastair snapping his fingers meant something very bad had happened. His gaze shifted to the demon in front of him, fire flashing in his eyes. "What did you just do?!" He looked back to Dean, the anger in his expression melting back into pure fear. "D-Dean, what was that?"

"I don't know," Dean admitted quietly, but honestly, he knew it had been nothing good. He turned to Alastair, still glaring, because hell if he was going to wait around to find out. "What the hell did you do?!"

'Jared' was close to panicking now, and Dean could tell. He had to get him out of this, then find a way to get Scott out too… _If it wasn't already too late,_ his mind added helpfully.

Alastair pretended to think. "Well, what did Azazel do to your mommy?" _Oh, god-_ "Well, minus the whole ceiling and bleeding stomach bit, though I could have gone with that route as well…" _Oh, god, god, no-_

And then a stifled scream rang out from inside the house, confirming that _oh, god, Scott-_

" _NO!_ " he heard someone shouting as if from very far away. It took him a couple minutes to realize it was his own voice.

He could smell the smoke coming from inside the house already, and his heart sank. He saw the bright light of the fire through the windows, and he knew it was too late. He couldn't save them both.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, full-out panicking now. "Get Scott safe… Please, Dean! Dean, save my son!" Seeing that Dean wasn't moving, Sam's eyes widened. " _PLEASE_!"

The man started to struggle in earnest now, but he wasn't a trained fighter, at least not in this world, and there was no way he could put up any resistance against the superhuman strength of a demon.

"Oh, shut up!" Alastair seemed almost bored as he lazily grabbed a fistful of Sam's long hair, ramming the man's head against the trunk of the tree. Dark blood stained the bark where Sam's head had hit and the man slumped back in Alastair's grip, dazed.

Dean's grip on his knife tightened as he helplessly looked between Sam and the now flaming house. He already knew his choice. He couldn't leave Sam alone with Alastair to save an illusion; he'd never forgive himself if he did.

Sam was struggling to hold onto consciousness, blinking sluggishly. "D-Dean…" he managed to choke out, "Please…"

And Dean knew his brother wasn't pleading for his own rescue.

Dean steeled his heart and started towards his brother, determined to do what he knew he had to-

But then he stopped again despite himself as another scream split the air.

Flames had started to lick around the outside of the house, eating away at the drywall, creeping around the sides -

" _Take your brother outside as fast as you can - don't look back. Now, Dean! Go!"_

Mom -

" _Jess-! Jess, no-!"_

" _We gotta get out-"_

Jess-

Another scream- fainter, choked -

Smoke filling the lungs, that was what killed 'em, got 'em before the fire did -

 _How horrible was it that he was thankful for the smoke?_

At least the kid wouldn't have to burn alive -

Alastair broke the stream of thoughts and memories with a harsh laugh. "See, this is how it's gonna go, kid. One way or another, whether I have to kill you or not, I will bring Sammy here back to Lucifer." He paused, a sick grin spreading across his face. "And then I'm gonna have a bit of fun with your little brother until he finally says yes to the boss… And the little illusion burns."

Sam didn't seem to be processing anything coherently, unable to tear his eyes away from the house, still trying to get past Alastair. "S-Scott…"

And then, oh, god, it got worse- a small figure appeared in the window, struggling to push the heavy glass pane out. " _DADDY!"_ Scott screamed. " _DEAN!_ " Dean had hoped that the smoke would've gotten to the kid quickly - as terrible as it was - so that he didn't have to suffer long, but it seemed the 'illusion' was still fighting.

He shouldn't be panicking so much over a kid who wasn't real, and yet…

Scott wasn't alive, so how could he die?

For once, he was glad his father wasn't alive to see this. John would never have let this go.

"Stop it! Let him go!" Dean clenched his jaw, physically shaking with panic and rage. He had to save Sam; he had to.

'Jared' was still choking out quiet pleas for Dean to save his son - to do _something_ , but Dean knew there was nothing he could do.

"Why should I?" Alastair cackled over the screams. "We're having such a grand ol' time!"

Sobbing, choking, screaming, make it stop, make it stop... " _Daddy…?!_ " Getting weaker now- " _Daddy…_ "

It was too late for Scott, and they all knew it. Really, Dean's choice had been made since he'd first realized the stakes, and it was a choice he'd make over and over again if he had to.

But it broke something in his chest.

Then, he moved.

The movement came without thought, born from years of training, hatred and terror and mourning and _finally_ all condensed into a few eternal seconds. No thoughts. Just _feeling_.

And then before he realized what had just happened, Dean was stumbling back, the knife gone from his grip and hot blood coating his hands, trickling down his wrists. He managed to tear his shocked gaze away from it, looking up to see the handle of his blade protruding from Alastair's chest.

The demon's stance shook, then crumpled, forcing him to release Sam, who slid bonelessly down the trunk of the tree without Alastair's grip supporting him. "Y-You little…" The monster's expression was confused, as if he were still trying to puzzle through the last few moments. Frankly, Dean wasn't entirely sure what had happened himself.

"Choose carefully," Dean heard himself tell the demon. "Last name you're ever gonna call me."

But Alastair didn't even get that. The demon opened his mouth, but all that came out was a throaty gurgle and a trickle of blood. Eyes flicked white and then closed..That was it. None of the usual fireworks, no flaming chest, nothing.

It was over.

Some disconnected part of Dean realized that the screams from the house had stopped.

Still shaking and fighting back tears, he knelt down next to Sam, looking him over. His brother's form was illuminated by the light of the house fire, and Dean could see blood sticking to the back of his head. Not to mention, his previously white shirt had a large red patch where Alastair had cut down his chest, and there was that shallow cut on his neck…

He pushed Sam's hair out of his face, mumbling soothing nonsense that he was only partially aware of.

Sam choked back a quiet sob, muttering his imaginary kid's name, and Dean flinched, his own tears starting to fall. "I-I know, Sammy. I know. I'm so sorry." His voice cracked. "I'm so damn sorry."

Dean grunted with effort as he slung Sam's arm over his shoulder and dragged his baby brother to his feet. It was a way too familiar position for his taste. "Alright," he muttered to no one. "There we go. Just like that, huh?" He half carried, half dragged Sam to the car, dumping the limp man somewhat less-than-ceremoniously in the passenger seat. Not that Sam was in any state to complain about the treatment. His brother gave a quiet moan, barely registering what was happening around him.

And if the moan sounded vaguely like the name of a specific bright-eyed six-year-old who had never even existed, well, Dean pretended not to notice.

The kid wasn't real. He was never real. He had never been real. Dean repeated it over and over in his head, but he found tears streaming freely down his face regardless. Not like anyone was there to notice or care, anyway. In his state, Sam didn't exactly count.

"Wh-Where you wanna go, Sammy?" Dean bit out as he collapsed in the drivers' seat. "You gotta favorite bar? Any g-good strippers?" Oh, god, what the fuck was wrong with him, how the hell was he trying to make jokes now...?

But Sam didn't say anything, still slumped against the door, still staring at the blazing wreck of the house, still listening to the sirens that had started to blare in the distance, coming closer and closer.

Sirens. Fire department. Police.

It clicked in Dean's head that they had to move, had to get out of the area before the authorities showed up. Mechanically, he started the car, tearing off down the suburban street at speeds he'd never be able to remember later.

He drove.

He drove past the houses, out until the highway was open in front of them.

He drove for he didn't know how long.

Finally, he stopped, the car swerving to the deserted shoulder just in time for Dean to stumble out and empty the contents of his stomach on the side of the road. He wasn't sure how long he stayed like that, on his knees, retching repeatedly, but he didn't stop, couldn't stop, until he was shaking and sobbing.

"Sam…"

His brother didn't respond. Dean wasn't sure if he was asleep or awake. But it didn't really matter, because 'Sam' wasn't there right now. Wasn't even there to see how Dean had failed him _again_ , had destroyed his life and killed the people he loved _again_. Because what happened at Stanford with Jess - the real Jess; not the one 'Jared' would remember - wasn't bad enough.

Another sob tore its way out of Dean's throat. He had stopped trying to wipe the tears away a long time ago. "God, _Sam_ …" He shook his head. "I'm so sorry…"

" _I'm so damn sorry_ …"

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 **Oh, did we forget to warn you all about the slight character death in this chapter? Whoops… Our bad. But it would really have ruined the surprise, and we did warn about angst, so... Anyway, go ahead and let us know what you think! - Mimzy and Pixie**

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 _ **Reply to "Guest's" review on Ch. 16**_ **\- We can't exactly respond to your review in private, as you don't seem to have an account, but if you're reading this, we did want to let you know we appreciated the review! Yes, it was dragging, and we apologize for that. However, ever since around chapter nine, we've been super busy. There were a couple of times where we'd start working on a chapter, but run out of time, so we had to split the one chapter into two different ones. At least four of the chapters set at Jared's house were only supposed to be two, if not more of them. The original plan did not include spending over six weeks posting chapters set at Jared's, but y'know how life is. Once this story is finished, we might go back and combine the chapters again so that any future readers can read it how it was supposed to be. Thanks so much for your honesty and for taking the time to tell us what you thought!**


	18. Hey, Jude

**Hey! Sorry again about last week, but we hope you enjoy this chapter. We had to put it together pretty quickly, but we think it's still good.**

 _ **Warnings for this chapter:**_ **Ah, we have some angst… And again there's the fact that we don't know much about medical stuffs - especially when there's no first-aid kit in hand, so please forgive/ignore any and all inaccuracy. Language, probably. And angst.**

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ **We own nothing but the late Scott, so... Yeah, Supernatural's not ours.**

 **Thanks for reading!**

* * *

 **Hey Jude - The Beatles**

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It was past three in the morning when Dean pulled up to a run-down motel, taking a half second to close his eyes and let himself rest. He jerked the keys out of the ignition and allowed himself a moment to sink back into his seat as he processed. He just needed to breathe.

By his side, Sam was still out of it. Shellshocked. A single sideways glance told Dean all he needed to know- that he couldn't rest, not yet. He had to be the strong one a little while longer.

"We're here, Sammy," Dean managed, although he didn't think his little brother was really there to listen. "Look-at that, just like old times, huh?" When Sam didn't respond, Dean glanced over again and immediately felt ashamed for trying to make a wisecrack when his brother was suffering, in pain, and half conscious. "A bit too much like old times, actually," he mumbled to himself.

Sam didn't really respond more than an incoherent mumble and Dean let out a heavy sigh. It was going to be a long night. Well, longer than it already was. "I'll check in…"

He walked into the motel lobby, plastering a polite smile on his face as he talked to the clerk sitting at the desk. Thankfully, the older man refrained from making any comments about Dean's appearance, handing him the key to the room after he was paid.

Dean walked back out to the car, opening the door to the passenger's seat. "We're in luck, dude. Ground floor." He hoisted Sam up, slinging his brother's arm over his shoulder, and grunted quietly at the weight. "Yeah. _Definitely_ in luck…"

Sam let out a quiet, though definitely audible, groan as he was carried/dragged towards the direction of the motel room.

Dean grunted himself as he struggled to support his brother's sasquatch frame. Without the aid of his earlier frantic adrenaline rush, the task was considerably more difficult. "Yeah, you're not exactly a lightweight, champ," he grumbled. "C'mon."

It took a while, but finally Dean managed to get the pair of them into the motel room and ease Sam onto the bed. He took a deep breath and stripped off his brother's sweaty, bloodstained flannel shirt. "Lemme get a look at you, then," he murmured, mostly to himself. It was all too familiar a scene, this post-hunt motel patch-up job. At least for him, that was. 'Jared' was still zoned out, staring straight at the ceiling, unseeing. Dean snapped his fingers in his brother's face. "Sammy? You with me, man?"

After a few moments, Sam nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly. His adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed and his face was pale and sweaty, but he was responding. That was good. Responding was a good sign. Dean breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay. Okay, good. Now I need you to stay awake for me, can you do that?"

And after another long moment, Sam managed another shaky nod. "Y-yeah…" The voice was cracking and wavering and altogether pitiful, but hell, Dean was glad to hear it.

Dean was reluctant to leave his brother alone in his current state, but he had to leave for a moment to grab a towel from the bathroom. When he returned, he wasn't sure if the sight of Sam still prone on the bed, not having moved even an inch, comforted him or unsettled him. Pushing the thought out of his mind, he began to dab at the gash on Sam's head with the wet towel, flinching as the younger man hissed and tried to pull away. "Alright, look-at that, doing great," he soothed, offering his brother what he hoped was a comforting smile. "Almost done; 'M sorry…"

"H-He's…" Sam swallowed again to try to control the cracking of his voice, gazing up at his brother with a sad, almost frightened look in his eyes. "He's d-dead…"

Dean stiffened at the mention of Scott. He was hoping he wouldn't have to face that fact with his brother until later… Much later. "D-don't think about that just yet, Sammy, okay?" He swore quietly as tears stung his eyes, and he blinked them back quickly. Scott wasn't even real… "Don't… We'll think about that later."

He brought the damp towel down from Sam's head down to the shallow cut on his neck, pressing it to his skin gently. After a minute or two, he moved it down to the thin cut on his brother's chest, sighing in relief when he saw that it wasn't terribly deep and didn't require stitches. What he wouldn't give for the proper medical supplies for this right now… Still, he did as best as he could, all things considered.

'Jared' whimpered quietly as Dean continued his ministrations, whether from pain or grief or both, Dean couldn't tell. Still, the tears that were welling up in the other man's eyes served as yet another reminder that this wasn't Sam. The man on the bed in front of him might wear Sam's face, but this was not his brother.

With that realization, suddenly the guilt grew too strong, and Dean couldn't stand to keep looking at Sam not-Sam. The towel fell from his hands as he closed his eyes, swallowing and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Careful of Sam's injuries, he pulled the bigger man into a gentle hug and started rubbing soothing circles into his back. "I know... I know, Sammy…" Because fuck, what else was there to say? Guilty tears started to roll down his own cheeks, but he refused to let go of his brother to wipe them away. "I'm so sorry…" His voice cracked. "I'm so damn sorry…"

He heard a choked sob escape from 'Jared's' throat, and the larger man buried his face into Dean's shoulder. Any other time, Dean probably would've cracked some stupid joke about chick-flick moments to lighten the mood, but the man in front of him had just lost his son - real or not, and Dean figured he wouldn't appreciate the humor.

He wasn't in the mood for telling jokes himself anyway.

The response was instinctive. Cradling his baby brother in his arms, Dean closed his eyes and softly started to hum, which slowly turned into quiet singing. It'd been years since he'd done it, but… He had no idea what else to do now. Sam probably wouldn't remember it later anyway, what with the head injury, so he didn't even have to worry about his brother teasing him.

" _Hey, Jude_ …" he managed before his voice started to crack, trembling with the pain of the day and the memories of all the times his mom had sang this to him, of all the times he had sung it to comfort Sam as he patched one or both of them up when they were younger. " _D-don't make it bad_... _Take a s-sad song... and make it better…"_

Dean could feel Sam shaking in his arms, and he held him tighter as he forced himself to keep singing. He didn't matter right now. He still had to be strong, because he could at least do this. He couldn't protect Sammy, but he could still do this much. " _R-remember... to let her into your heart…_ "

He hesitated, looking down at the trembling man in his arms. " _And you can start to make it... better_." _Fucking lies…_ This was stupid. He shouldn't be so upset about something he knew didn't exist. However, Sam was still unresponsive - unless he counted heartbroken, quiet sobbing as a response - so Dean let himself have one moment of weakness in the hope Sam was too far gone to remember it the next day. He pressed his face into Sam's hair and let a few tears escape. "How the hell 'm I supposed make this better, Sam?"

No answer. Of course there wouldn't be. The whispered question had died as it had left his lips, and just as well, because he already knew - he couldn't.

"Wh-why don't you get a couple hours a' sleep, Sammy?" Dean finally suggested, trying desperately to keep his voice steady. "I-I'll be right here, okay? Right here."

Sam just looked up at him blankly, and that's when Dean remembered how hard his brother's head had been hit. He bit his lip, pulling out the penlight he'd thankfully stuffed into his pocket earlier before Alastair showed up. "Hey, Sammy, can you open your eyes nice and wide for me, bud?"

"Just want to sleep…" Sam muttered, blinking slowly. "I don't - I don't feel good." Still, after a moment, Sam looked up at obediently, and Dean shone the light in his eyes to test his pupils.

"Son of a bitch…" Dean muttered, flicking the light off and scrubbing a hand over his face. Minor concussion, he'd seen more than enough in his time to tell. Sure, it wasn't that bad of one, but… _Great_. Just what they needed. Sam was pretty much out for the count, Dean wasn't feeling too hot himself, and who knew how much time they had to regroup before the other shoe dropped?

"M' head hurts," Sam informed him softly, looking pretty out of it. He looked more vulnerable than he had in over a decade, though Dean figured that a concussion, lost memories, and the loss of a child would do that to a man.

"Yeah, it would," Dean muttered, wetting another towel in the cold water, wringing most of the water out. "Lie down, okay? And keep this on it." He pressed the cloth into Sam's hand, who nodded and did as he was told.

"'M so sorry," Sam whispered quietly after he'd lied down.

Dean's jaw clenched at the broken apology, taking a deep breath. "You don't be sorry for anything, Sam, you hear me?" He glanced down, unable to look his brother in the eyes any longer. "'S me who needs to apologize."

"D-Didn't save S-Scott…" Sam choked out. "I-I was s'pposed t' protect 'im… I failed." And it was only then that Dean realized - Sam wasn't mad at Dean for Scott's death. He was mad at _himself_. The reaction was so _Sam_ that it hurt, and Dean had to blink hard to keep more tears at bay.

"No," Dean assured his brother, even as he felt his stomach clench uncomfortably at the admission. "It was my job. My job, Sam. You couldn't have... you didn't know what you were up against." _But Dean had,_ a little voice in his head nagged.

He tried not to think about it.

"He's m' son," Sam mumbled as he glanced down, guilt written all over his face, before he looked up at him quickly, as if having just realized something. "What 'm I gonna tell Jess...?"

Dammit. Ruby. If Dean hadn't wanted to rip out her throat before, he certainly did now. But Sam still saw her as his innocent, beautiful wife, and 'Jared' wasn't going to be very understanding if Dean caused the death of another loved one.

"We'll, ah…" Dean hesitated. "We'll figure it out in the morning, okay?"

"She… I…" Sam fumbled for words, struggling to piece his thoughts together coherently. "I don' know where she is… She wasn' in the house… went to look for her and..."

Dean scowled. He actually didn't have a clue where the demon bitch had made off to, and at the moment? He didn't care, he just hoped she was in pain. "Probably just ran at the first sight of Alastair." He shook his head with disgust. When he caught up with her...

"What am I supposed to do now...?" The timid question broke into his vengeful thoughts. Sammy needed him. And right now, Sam didn't need a warrior; he needed a brother. Even if he wasn't aware he had one.

So Dean sighed and pushed all thoughts of murder out of his head for the moment. "You're supposed to go to sleep," he told his brother softly. "Rest. Let me figure it out, okay?"

In response, Sam nodded slowly, sniffing and wiping at his red face with his arm. Carefully, so as not to disturb him more than he had to, Dean eased his way off Sam's bed and lied down on his own. Somehow, he didn't think Sam would appreciate company tonight, even if all Dean wanted to do was help.

And, if he was gonna be brutally honest, Dean just wished there was something he could do to soothe the ache of guilt and responsibility that still burned in his chest.

He flicked the light off, sending the room into a flickering darkness broken only by the occasional flickering headlights of cars on the highway. A thick silence blanketed the room, but Dean knew his brother was still awake.

"...I'm so sorry, Sammy," he found himself mumbling.

There was no answer, but Dean was nearly certain his brother had heard. In the still of the night, there was no way he hadn't.

And if the other man's breath hitched and the shadow of his shoulders shook with a quiet sob… Dean wasn't about to mention it come morning.

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Dean didn't remember falling asleep, but he must have at some point in the night, lulled only by the knowledge that asleep, Sam didn't have to remember the night's events. He could only have gotten a couple hours, max, though, before he was jerked from his fitful dozing by a soft noise from his stirring brother.

"Sammy?" he asked, sitting up cautiously as he waited to see what Sam's reaction to him would be. While Dean hoped his brother would see him as a source of comfort, another readily foreseeable outcome was that Sam would see him as the man who'd barged into his life and torn it apart and set it on fire. Dean wasn't about to make the situation worse than it had to be. If Sam needed space… well, Dean could give him that. He thought. He was hoping he wouldn't be forced to.

Sam's eyes blinked open slowly, blearily, and then all at once as he jerked awake. " _Shit-!_ " He clasped a hand to his head, swearing softly at the pain.

In a second, Dean had abandoned all sense of caution and was by his brother's side, a steadying hand on Sam's back as he pressed the cup of water he'd left out on the the nightstand into his hand. So much for giving Sam space… "Take it easy, there, man…" he advised. "You whacked your head pretty bad."

"You think?" Sam muttered, keeping his head down as he shoved the cup back into Dean's hand with more force than Dean had expected. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed with a grimace. Apparently 'Jared' still had the Winchester stubbornness that made him inclined to try and move around with a head injury, not to mention the bruises he'd acquired. Dean wasn't sure if that fact was comforting or not.

Yeah, maybe space woulda been the best idea. Dean kicked himself internally for his rash actions- _seriously, how did he_ always _manage to screw everything up?_ \- but backed away from the bed to give his brother some air. Still, he wasn't about to let the kid hurt himself worse. "Maybe you shouldn't get up just yet, dude," Dean couldn't stop himself from saying. When Sam looked up, Dean got a little bolder, a little more hopeful that Sam was willing to work with him. "Lemme check your eyes again, see if anything got any better-"

" _No_."

"Sam, please, just... just let me look at you, alright?" Dean looked at him pleadingly. His brother's health would always come first, even if he was ticked off at Dean, but he'd prefer it if Sam just let him help willingly. Dean needed to know he was alright - physically, at least. "You were more than a little outta it last night; I just wanna make sure you're okay."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Dean regretted them. Sam looked up at him, eyes red and bloodshot and more than a little damp. " _Okay?"_ he echoed, his tone making Dean flinch internally. "Do I look _okay_? My son's _dead_ , Dean! I think that gives me every right not to be 'okay!'"

So not okay, then.

Dean dropped his gaze to the grungy motel carpet, swallowing the guilt in his throat at Sam's blunt words, unforgiving in their blame. He swallowed and spoke softly, not meeting his brother's eyes. "I'm... I'm sorry, Sammy," he started, eyes still glued on the floor. "You know I didn't mean it like that, I meant... physically."

"Yeah, I know what you _meant_ ," Sam muttered, and Dean wasn't sure who Sam was more angry with: Dean or himself. He hadn't exactly forgotten the apology Sam had given him last night, coherent or otherwise. Winchesters weren't typically the sort to stop blaming themselves that quickly.

Dean sighed as he perched cautiously at the edge of the bed, trying to connect with the traumatized man in front of him but still a couple feet away to give space if he had to. "Look…" he hesitated. "I can't fix _that_." Sam flinched, but Dean forced himself to continue anyway. "I wish to god I could, but I _can't_. I _can_ fix a concussion. So I'm doing what I can, because this whole thing is fucked up and broken, and I know I can't fix all of it, okay?"

Sam huffed. "Never said I was expecting you to _fix_ anything."

"You want me to _try_?" Dean countered.

When the only response Dean got was another slow head shake, a spark of frustration flared up in his chest for the first time. "Okay," he snapped. "Okay, _fine_. You don't want me to even try to help. _Awesome_."

Sam just swallowed and kept staring at the floor, frowning. Dean wasn't sure why his brother was even continuing to look down - the thin, shallow cut on the man's neck couldn't be making the action very comfortable.

"I did what I had to do, Sam." Dean bit the words out, because damn, he could blame himself all day, but… but _defending_ himself... that was hard. He shook his head. He had made his choice, and he knew he'd made the right one. He couldn't let it torture him, he had to accept what he'd done and… and let it go. So he forced himself to keep going, voice growing stronger as he got more and more confident. "And man... I loved Scott. I loved him 'cause I love you. I wish you'd gotten to turn out like that." Sam shot him a funny look, confused, but Dean wasn't done yet. He took a deep breath. "...But he wasn't real. This _isn't_ real. None of it." Expecting an argument, he scoffed darkly. "You have enough proof yet?"

Sam sighed, but nodded slightly in resignation, reaching up to rub a hand over his face.

That hadn't been the reaction Dean was expecting. He froze for a few seconds as a flicker of hope sparked in his chest before he forced it down again. No use getting excited just for 'Jared' to bust through and ruin it again. But… but to have Sam back, _really_ back… "Wait…" He cleared his throat. "Wait, you - you believe me?"

Sam nodded again, and Dean allowed the small hope to grow. Sure, he'd thought Sam was back only to be disappointed before, but… "Y-you remember?" he asked. "At least some?"

Sam gave him a look and shook his head, and the hope was crushed once again. Dean frowned. "What…? Then why do you…?"

"I don't remember, but…" His brother sighed quietly. "Just… He… 'Alastair' or whatever… He practically confirmed it. And two crazy people having the same, very detailed delusion rarely happens, so…" Sam trailed off, keeping his gaze on the floor.

Well, it… it was a start. Dean nodded as he processed, accepting the answer and already going over plans in his mind. At least 'Jared' believed him now. It would make things a little less complicated. "Well, it's not perfect, but it'll have to do. Okay, so we'll do a day for you to take it easy, then I can go over some basic hand to hand, knife fighting, gun skills…" They were gonna have to move fast with the training, but Dean hoped some of it would come back as they went. He didn't know how long they had before there was another attack, but Crowley could fuck himself. Dean was damn well going after Cas...

Sam cleared his throat awkwardly, drawing Dean's attention. He frowned at the expression on his brother's face. "What?"

"You realize…" Sam shifted uncomfortably, staring at his clasped hands and looking more than a little overwhelmed. "I'm a nurse, Dean, I don't know how to do any of that, stuff. And it's not exactly like riding a bike…" The man winced and rubbed his temple, frowning. Another headache then. Sure, it might be the concussion, but then… It might be Sam, trying to break out from underneath the surface.

"I think it is," Dean replied quietly. "More than you remember. The headaches, they're a sign of it coming back. I got 'em, too, when I was fighting this off."

"But I _don't_ remember," Sam insisted, squeezing his eyes shut as the headache grew worse.

"You've been _you_ a few times," Dean told him, before pausing. "Well, been Sam. Ruby was dosing you up big time. I mentioned that, remember? It'll take a bit to fully wear off, but we don't have much time. Lucifer still has Cas."

Sam frowned a little. "Cas?"

"Castiel," Dean clarified. "He's a friend. An Angel, actually. The dude who pulled me out of Hell." Maybe that had been a bit fast… Sam nodded, but his face held nothing but confusion and a small amount of fear. Dean hadn't meant to overwhelm the poor guy; he'd thought Sam had known. "You remember that, right?" he asked. "From those dreams of yours?"

"Not the angel part."

"Well…" Oops. Guess he should've checked to see what all 'Jared' remembered from Dean's 'ramblings' and his own dreams first. "Surprise?" Shit, he was going about this all wrong.

Sam just shook his head, moving on. "Now what?"

"Now, will you _please_ let me check your head? Concussions aren't stuff to mess around with." Dean knew that Sam knew that, as his alter ego was a nurse, and he smiled slightly in relief when his brother gave in and nodded. The guy still wasn't happy, but… He remained content with the knowledge that Sam wasn't going to punch him in the face for not saving his son anytime soon. At least, he didn't think Sam would.

Dean pulled his penlight back out, checking Sam's pupil response as fast as he could so he hurt his brother as little as possible. "Not too bad," he commented as he clicked it off, relief evident in his voice. "Not great, but you've had worse before." He glanced briefly at the cuts on Sam's neck and chest to check and see if they looked like they could get infected or something, before deciding that they were going to heal just fine with some time.

Sam only shrugged, and Dean tried to put a reassuring hand on his brother's shoulder; to tell him everything was gonna be alright. But then the other man leaned away from the touch, and Dean let his hand fall to his side, disappointed and maybe even a little hurt, but respecting the clear boundary. "Right, then," he nodded and forced a slight smile. "Right."

His brother glanced at him briefly, like he almost regretted pulling back, but then it was gone and Sam turned away again.

"You... you just get some more rest," Dean said on a sigh. "Doctor's orders."

Sam shook his head stubbornly, frowning at the idea.

Rolling his eyes, Dean bit back an irritated sigh. His brother was concussed, and the idiot didn't want to take a nap like he should. Like Sam very well knew like he should, memories or not. 'Jared' was a nurse, for goodness' sakes. "Sam. Sleep. Now."

His brother shook his head again, apparently deciding he had nothing to say, instead rubbing his temple and swallowing.

"So help me God, if I have to tie you to that damn bed, I will," Dean told him, completely serious.

Sam shot him a look that clearly stated he didn't appreciate the threat.

"What is this, the silent treatment?" Dean scowled. "Cut it out, Sammy."

His brother flinched slightly at the nickname, but Dean didn't really care to question it at the moment. "You want revenge on the demons, right?" he prodded. "For killing Scott?" Yeah, maybe it was a low blow, but desperate times…

Sam paused, but nodded slowly and Dean gave another cold smile that didn't reach to warm his eyes or his voice. "Well, I'll help you get it. Real or not... I cared about that kid." He coughed a little to hide the way his voice cracked. "He was you. The way you were supposed to be. If you weren't... well, a hunter. Like me."

Dean forced himself to turn away then, just in case a stray tear or two should happen to escape. Behind him, he heard Sam get settled on the bed. The man was still hurting inside - that much was blatantly obvious - but at least he was agreeing to get the rest he needed. "So sleep, get a little better. Take today off. Tomorrow we'll train. And... we'll make them pay." His hands clenched into fists at his side.

Later, he would find small half moons from his fingernails pressed into his flesh, but he pretended he didn't and pushed it aside like he always did.

He needed to focus on finding a way to fix Sam, before 'Jared' fell apart on him.

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 **We hope you enjoyed that chapter! If so, go ahead and drop us a review! - Mimzy and Pixie**


	19. Talk

**Hey, hey, hey! So a bit of a shorter chapter this week, Mimzy's got midterms and I had a bunch of papers due all at once. Actually wait, I just checked, you guys are getting six pages. Never mind, I don't feel bad. But anyway, haha, here we go, the next chapter! Hope y'all like!**

 **No warnings really, a little violence maybe, but not any real violence. There's also angst, but… Guessing by now you all have gotten used to that.**

 **We don't own Supernatural.**

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" **Talk" - Coldplay**

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Dean circled his brother, fists raised in a ready position. "Alright, Sammy, put 'em up," he told his brother, nodding his approval as Sam did. "We'll take this slow," he assured, "but I'm gonna show you a few moves."

Fistfighting wasn't gonna protect anyone once the demons started pulling out the big guns, Dean knew, but it would make Sam a helluva lot more confident in his abilities, even if that confidence was sorta an illusion. Plus, it was probably better to start the guy off with something he sorta understood. Sam had probably at least thought of fistfighting, whereas pulling out a bunch of shotguns would most likely freak him the fuck out.

He paused for a second. _No, no, no_ … With a groan, Dean dropped his own hands to fix his brother's. The kid's hands were way out to his sides and far too low. Grabbing Sam's wrists, Dean quickly adjusted him. "Keep your arms in. Unless you don't particularly care about your ribs."

Sam shook his head, dropping the stance and putting it back up himself to get a feel for it. "Sorry," he muttered.

Dean glanced over his brother's posture for a moment, inspecting it critically, before he finally nodded. Good enough. "Okay, show me how you'd throw a punch," he instructed. Without any sort of punching bag, Dean just settled for holding his hand up for a target. It wasn't like he hadn't been hit before, and in a lot worse places, too.

Pulling his arm back like Dean had shown him earlier in the session, Sam hesitated before throwing a single punch. Too slow.

Dean caught the strike easily, his fingers curling around the fist with no pain. "Slow," he said, not letting go even though Sam tried to pull away. "Form was good, aim was good, but it's slow. You should be in and out before the enemy knows what hit him. If I have time to catch it?" Dean squeezed the fist he still held captive in demonstration before releasing it. "It's not fast enough. Besides, speed'll give you more power."

At Sam's nod, Dean backed up, holding the target out to his side. "Go again."

His brother nodded, and this time the punch came faster - fast enough that Dean thought it was worth parrying rather than just catching.

"Yeah, there we go," he enthused, sidestepping as he parried the strike to raise his other hand. He need to keep Sam moving, get him into a fighting rhythm.

Sam tried again, this time using his left hand. It was respectable, but Dean put blocking practice aside in favor of a small sparring match. He easily sidestepped again, because Sammy was still firing a bit slow, and tossed in a jab of his own.

The strike was high and slow, to give Sam a fair chance while he was learning, and he didn't disappoint. Sam grinned slightly as he blocked the shot, seemingly at least a little excited that he had started to get the hang of it.

Dean grinned back. "Nice one," he praised. "But remember to keep your hands up, or…" He landed a gentle jab to Sam's exposed ribs.

Sam winced, even though the blow was light. "Sorry," he muttered.

Dean shook his head. "Don't be sorry, be-" he broke off mid-sentence to swing a punch at Sam's jaw, pulling it right before it connected. "Be ready."

"Trying to," Sam grunted, breathing hard as he took another swing at Dean. But he let too much of his bodyweight get behind the blow, and Dean saw a teachable opportunity in the mistake. He easily sidestepped, letting Sam's momentum carry him forward and past his target. With his brother off balance, Dean grabbed his bicep.

"See?" he said, giving the arm a squeeze. "Now I have you in a spot I could do anything. Use the attacker's momentum against them." He gently tugged on the limb, showing Sam how an attacker could use the position to land a kick, punch, or knee strike before shifting sideways and putting the arm in a loose joint lock. "Just a little pressure on the elbow, and this hold would hurt like hell." Dean felt Sam tense beneath him, but he released the limb without demonstrating.

"Got it?" he asked, and when Sam nodded, Dean stepped back, putting up his hands again. "Then show me. Use my momentum to put me where you want me." He went in with a kick this time, and Sam stepped to the side to let it fly past.

Dean nodded as he turned again. "Good. But next time, try to catch the kick. It'll put me off balance, and if you trap the knee, you could really do anything."

Sam bit his lip as he tried to process all the information, nodding that he understood.

"Alright, try again," Dean instructed. But rather than just go in for a kick, he surprised Sam by throwing a feint punch and then backing out quickly to aim a roundhouse kick at Sam's ribs. Dean nodded his approval when his brother successfully dodged; he hadn't been sure the guy would be able to.

"Good. You got out," he smirked. "Now try to fight back." He went for a low sweep to Sam's ankles, making him take a step back. "If someone goes low, you aim for the head. Come down from above. And don't let them take you to the ground if you can help it." The pair had started to circle again, both men searching for an opening. "We don't really have time to go over everything, so just…" Dean deliberately left his right side open as he spoke. "Well, if you get in a fight, try to stay on your feet until I get there."

Sam didn't respond as he finally caught the opening, coming in with a high kick which Dean easily swept away. He let his brother keep his footing, though, not wanting the match to be over so quickly. Instead, he tried an overhand strike, met with a solid high block. Sam was getting good, so Dean decided to push the counterattack. He aimed a left hook for Sam's jaw. It should have been fairly simple to block, not much of a challenge for Sam. Which is why Dean wasn't expecting Sam to stumble, wasn't expecting his hands to drop, and wasn't nearly fast enough to pull the punch.

His fist hit with a painful sounding _crack_ and Sam's head snapped to the side as he stumbled back, rubbing his chin. " _Fuck_ ," Sam swore, shaking his head to clear it.

Dean grimaced, wincing in sympathy at the red mark spreading across Sam's chin. It'd be a nice bruise in a day or so, that was sure. He hadn't been trying to actually hit him, especially since he was still recovering from a minor concussion. "Hey, Sam, you okay?" he asked, frowning.

Sam looked up when Dean said his name, an emotion flashing in his eyes that Dean couldn't put a name to. Dean frowned a little, but the look vanished from his brother's face as quickly as it had came.

Dean decided to let it go, figuring that he'd just been imagining things. "Sorry, I thought you'd be able to block that one." Sam grimaced, rubbing his jaw and nodding, and Dean let out an apologetic chuckle."Hey, looks like you gotta get me back, then, right?"

Sam paused at that, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Can we actually take a break? Just for a few minutes?"

A break? They hadn't been out here that long, but… Sam was still healing, he supposed. Emotionally and physically. "Uh, yeah, sure. You tired already?"

"Headache," Sam answered shortly, grimacing as if in proof.

Dean looked at him, nodding quickly. Headaches were good, right? Sam wasn't being drugged anymore, and 'Jared' believed him, so that mean that anytime now… A headache could lead to Sam coming back once and for all. Or so Dean hoped. "Alright, let's get you inside."

"Sounds good," Sam muttered, a hand going to his head to rub at his temples.

Maybe he didn't _need_ to help his brother back inside, but Sam uncharacteristically didn't protest the help as Dean slung an arm under his and started to lead the way back to their room. "You need anything?" he asked as he gently helped Sam sit on the bed. "Water, ice pack?"

"Water'd be awesome," Sam replied, and in less than a minute, Dean was back at his side with a cool glass.

"Don't get any used to this, though, dude," Dean warned with a smirk. "I don't do the waiter thing."

The joke earned him a weak smile, which Dean counted as a win. "Yeah, well, thanks," Sam almost chuckled, taking a long drink. Maybe Dean had worked him a little harder than he'd thought.

"So…" Dean forced himself to keep his tone casual, not wanting to pressure the poor guy when he was having a migraine. Not after all that'd happened to him. "You remembering anything..?" He looked at the pained expression on his brother's face, frowning a little with guilt. His brother was hurting, and Dean just had to let it happen… No, he had to encourage it. Headaches were good. Weren't they?

Sam shook his head slightly, going back to massaging his temples. "I'm sorry; I'm trying."

"It's fine." But Dean couldn't hold back a quiet sigh of disappointment. "It's fine, don't worry. You do remember some stuff, even if you don't realize it. You were doing great out there." It wasn't even a lie. All things considered into the equation, 'Jared' had taken to the training better than a lot of others would, honestly. He gave Sam a reassuring smile, but he couldn't help but feel a bit concerned. The headaches had grown worse since they'd arrived at the motel, which was probably a good sign, but… Seeing Sam in pain wasn't exactly pleasant.

His brother winced. "Sorry. I'm kinda holding you back here, aren't I?"

Holding him back? Dean shook his head. "Nah, you're the top priority here, dude. Keeping you away from Lucifer is our main goal." Guilt twisted in his stomach at the thought of Cas, but he forced it down. The angel would understand, hell, if he were here he would tell Dean to focus on the biggest threat. And right now, that was stopping the freaking Apocalypse.

Sam nodded, pausing a few moments before he looked up at him, wearing a confused expression. "Why was he posing as a _janitor_ of all things?"

That… was a good question. Lucifer could have posed as anybody he wanted, and yet... "I dunno, why does the devil do anything? Maybe some sorta hiding in plain sight thing?"

Sam seemed to accept the answer, staying silent for a long while before he spoke up quietly. "And my wife's evil… That right?"

Well, she wasn't actually his wife - thankfully. "Sorta… Yeah."

"So…" Sam took a moment to process the information, even though Dean knew he'd already known it. "Lying the whole time then."

"There _was_ no 'whole time,'" Dean told him quietly. Sure, they both knew it was just a dream, but… They hadn't discussed Ruby yet since they'd arrived at the motel. "What you remember... falling in love, getting married, having... having _Scott_ ," he paused, swallowing. "That wasn't real. None of it." He bit back an apology, knowing that saying 'sorry' wouldn't help. Instead, he let out a humorless chuckle. "Now you know how I felt waking up in that looney bin, huh?"

Sam shot him a look, but he seemed glad for the subject change. "At least I haven't jumped out of a window yet."

Alright, so he'd missed the bantering a little. Or more than a little. He smirked. "Yeah, well, _I_ didn't strap you to a friggin bed."

"It was for your own safety, you nut, and Dr. Sheppard's." Sam paused. "Or whatever his name really is."

"Crowley. He's a demon," Dean told him. "But on our side." That wasn't really accurate. "...Kinda. For now." It was hard to explain why Dean trusted Crowley when the point of fact was simply: he didn't.

His little brother raised an eyebrow. "Kinda?"

"Well, I don't trust him as far as I can throw him, usually. But now, well…" He shrugged. "Our interests line up."

"Why? Exactly?"

"Well, if you say yes, then Lucifer wins, and then Crowley doesn't get to take his place as king of Hell," Dean explained simply, not wanting to complicate it any further by adding in unnecessary details.

"That's…" Sam hesitated, clearly having some difficulty wrapping his head around things. "I'm just going to nod and pretend I understand why Crowley would be able to be king in the first place, is that okay?"

Dean couldn't hold a laugh, but he couldn't judge the poor guy. All this was confusing, even to Dean- to Sam it probably sounded like some bull straight outta 'Halloweentown.' "Yeah, that's about all I'm going on, too. Don't worry about it, Sammy."

His brother flinched."Don't." The word was so soft it was almost inaudible, but Dean frowned as he caught it.

"Don't what?"

Sam's face reddened, sighing quietly, but he couldn't take the fatal word back now. "I just… don't call me that."

Now Dean was really confused. Something was definitely wrong. "Don't call you Sammy? Why not?" He'd called the guy 'Sammy' before, hadn't he…?

Sam chewed on the inside of his cheek. "It's… it's stupid, really, I just…" At Dean's worried frown, he sighed, getting the message that Dean wasn't going to let this go until he spilled. "I… I know you're… happy. That you're getting your brother back. But…" And here the man stopped, seeming to gather up his strength for the next part. "But you've said it yourself. You're not 'Jensen,' and Jensen wasn't 'Dean.' And I… _I'm_ not Sam." The man looked down. "So what happens when you get your brother back?"

Dean blinked, trying to come up with a good answer even as he struggled to get his mind wrapped around the idea of what Sam was saying… What… Jared was saying? But before he could, the man was speaking again.

"What happens to Jared - to _me_ \- when 'Sam' takes back control?" The man in front of him looked up with pleading eyes, and Dean couldn't help but notice that the look was almost identical to the look he'd- the look _Sam_ had given Dean every time he was scared as a child. Every time the kid had come to Dean for reassurance that everything would be fine. "Do I just…?"

He couldn't bring himself to answer the question that Sa - that _Jared_ hadn't been able to finish, staring at the ground. He felt like he had just been punched right in the gut - repeatedly. Dean hadn't thought of it like that; of course he hadn't. He'd never really seen Jared as his own person, not really. He'd just been an amnesiac version of Sam. If Jared had his own thoughts and personality… Had… Had ' _Jensen_?'

"When you call me Sam…" the man's voice was soft, like he was afraid Dean was going to get angry. "I mean, I get why you do it - I really do - and I know you want your brother back, but…" He took a deep breath. "When you call me that, it makes me feel like... like maybe _Jared's_ already dead."

Dean didn't - couldn't - lift his gaze from the ground as freezing guilt wrapped a hand around his throat. Here he was, pushing and pushing for his brother back, when the man he had been living with, who'd taken him in out of sheer charity, who had believed him - at least enough not to send him back to the looney bin, and the man who had lost his damn _son_ for all this shit... when that man was about to…

"I don't want to die." Jared's voice broke - and something in Dean's chest did too. "D-Dean, I don't know about this; this is your world. But all I know is, I'm me. I'm _Jared_. I'm a person, I think, I feel… I know that this is what's gotta happen, to… to 'save the world' - or whatever, but..." He swallowed hard, staring at the brown carpet underneath his feet. There was a pause before he finally managed to choke out his confession. "I'm scared, okay? I'm sorry, but I can't help it." Jared choked on what could have been a sob. "I'm _sorry_."

Dammit… Dammit, dammit, Sammy, dammit, Jared…

Dean didn't know what to tell him. He didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure if there was anything _to_ say. He wanted Sam back more than anything in the world right now, but… Jared had done a lot for him - given up a lot, lost a lot. What was real for Dean wasn't real for him, and vice versa, but… but he was still a person.

A person who knew he had to sacrifice himself to a cause he didn't even understand and was going into it with open arms.

And what the hell was Dean supposed to say to _that_?

He didn't have to say anything. At that moment, there was a knock on the motel door. Dean turned away to answer it, almost glad for the distraction. But that didn't stop Jared's question from echoing in his head.

* * *

 **So that got deep, haha- or at least we tried to make it get deep. Only a couple more chapters left after this and an epilogue. Get ready, cause shit's about to get real real fast. Thank you all for sticking with us this far, and please, take a moment of your time to drop us a note telling us what you think!**

 **-Mimzy and Pixie**


	20. Highway to Hell

**Alright, so it looks like the countdown is on! There's going to be this chapter, a few more, an epilogue and then… Wow. Can't believe this is drawing to a close. We** _ **will**_ **continue to write together, but it's going to be a while before we start putting our next major fic out. We sort of have a vague idea, but nothing near concrete. So for now, enjoy this story, and make sure to drop us a review!**

 **No real warnings for this chapter, except maybe language.**

 **We do not own _Supernatural_.**

* * *

" **Highway to Hell" - AC/DC**

* * *

Dean raised an eyebrow as he peered through the peephole of the motel door, drawing his gun. An all-too-familiar face stared impatiently back at him. "Son of a bitch…" he muttered, stepping back from the door and shoving the gun in the waistband of his jeans as he went to unlock it.

"Who is it?" Sa - Jared asked, and Dean opened the door and stepped aside to let the visitor in. "Sam? Meet Crowley."

The demon gave a small wave and smirk as he strode into the room, ignoring Dean's scathing glare. "Hello, boys."

Jared stood when he saw Crowley, and Dean gestured to the demon. "Meet Crowley, the demonic sonofabitch that we're unfortunately stuck with - for now."

Crowley ignored the jab, watching Sam but speaking to Dean. "Does our little Sammy finally remember yet?"

The guy scowled, and Dean was pleased to note that he already seemed to be taking a disliking to the demon. "Don't call me that."

"Not fully," Dean admitted. "But he believes me."

"And how did you convince him of the truth?" Crowley asked, still studying Jared like a bug under a microscope and making the taller man shift uncomfortably.

The question would have been almost humorous if it weren't for the situation. "Well, a demon attack does have some sway," Dean answered dryly.

Crowley hummed thoughtfully. "So what you're saying is that he basically believed just because someone else besides you said it was true and backed you up?"

Jared coughed irritably. "I _am_ right here, you know. You can stop talking to him as if I'm not in the room."

Dean stifled a small smirk at the comment. "Yeah." he replied, rolling his eyes. "So if you hadn't spent all this time being a spineless little _worm_ …"

"Well." Crowley frowned a little. "That would have saved quite some time." He shrugged dismissively. " _Whoops_. Oh, well, no harm, no foul, hm?"

Something about the demon's light tone contrasted with the heartache and terror of the past few days made Dean's blood boil. "No harm?" he repeated incredulously. " _No harm?_ " Jared's _hurt_ and Scott's _dead_. Plus, we wasted valuable time, time Alastair's had Cas prisoner, doing who knows what to him?"

Crowley scoffed, wiping a fake tear from his eye. "Oh, _boo-hoo_. Scott's dead? You mean the _illusion_ that wasn't even alive to begin with? What did I _tell_ you about getting attached? He. Wasn't. _Real!_ We've gone over this." The demon snorted, muttering to himself. " _Sentimental morons_."

As the demon spoke, Jared's body grew rigid with fury, teeth clenched and hands curled into fists. Dean put a steadying hand on the man's arm, ready to hold him back if necessary, but his chest ached, too, and he couldn't help but wonder if getting a solid kick at Crowley's jewels in might help.

"He was real to Sa- Jared," Dean finally said when it looked like the other man was too angry to speak. "And he meant something to me, too, you know that. He was what coulda happened. What _shoulda_." His voice didn't waver, but it was thick with emotion, and Dean couldn't bring himself to really care.

"Oh, please," Crowley scoffed dismissively. "It doesn't matter what _should_ have happened! Do try and restrain your idiocy, Winchester. I know that's hard for you, but this is a bit of a serious matter."

Dean turned to Jared, unable to look at Crowley anymore. If he did, he might explode. "See? We might have a common goal, but he's a total douche."

Jared wasn't looking back at him; he was still staring daggers at Crowley, however, he still replied. "I liked him better when he was just an arrogant doctor who was occasionally attacked by psych patients with utensils."

"Oi!" Crowley huffed, shooting Jared a look. "I looked after you, Moose! I even behaved like a _nice_ person at times. I was more than just nice; I was helpful! You should thank me."

Dean ignored the demon, responding to Jared's comment with a half smile. "I liked him better with the fork look, too. We'll have to try that again once this is all over."

"I'll hold him down," Jared offered, scowling in Crowley's direction.

"Later," Dean promised, grinning slightly.

The demon rolled his eyes, deciding to remind the two of his presence. "Well, I see that the pair of you are starting to get back to normal… Violence really is your answer to everything, isn't it?"

"Apparently." Dean scowled, getting back to business. "You said you know where Cas is."

"And I do," Crowley reassured him, smirking. "Told you I'd find him, didn't I?"

The hunter set his jaw, not sure what Crowley's news would be. Dean wasn't even sure if Cas was still alive. He wouldn't put it past the demon to fail to mention Cas's death until the last second. He swallowed, trying to brace himself for the worst. He couldn't breakdown in front of a demon if the news wasn't what he wanted. "And?"

Crowley shrugged. "He's actually still at the state institution, locked away in one of the upper levels."

Alright, so he was still alive… But that didn't mean the angel wasn't hurt. Keeping his voice hard as he fought to stay calm, Dean looked at Crowley. "What kinda shape's he in? How much does he know?"

The demon didn't acknowledge him, musing to himself. "Thinking about it now, had I known that at the time...We could have grabbed him when I saved your hide. Oh well. 'oops.'" Crowley finally decided to answer Dean's questions, glancing up. "He's remembered, most of it. From what I've heard, he has absolutely _no_ idea that he's an angel, though, which is irksome, because that means he won't know how to use his powers. Other than that, he remembers just about everything about our world."

Dean's fists were clenched by the time the demon finally stopped talking, knuckles white as he physically shook with the rage building in his chest. Cas had been in the same building he'd been the entire time - maybe even in a nearby room, and they'd just _left_ him there to rot. The anger flared up even more when Crowley gave him a smirk - Dean was going to kill him. He would. Whatever it took, one day he was going to rip out Crowley's lungs, salt them, and shove them back down his stubbled throat. "You - you _son of a bitch_!"

He had known- he had _known_ that he was abandoning his friend, but- but what had he been able to do? Blinded and tortured half to death, he had been utterly reliant upon Crowley to escape - and Crowley didn't give a damn what happened to Cas so long as he got what he wanted in the end.

The demon's eyes widened as if _Dean_ were the one being unreasonable. "It's not as if I _knew_! Don't get huffy with me just because Lucifer hadn't decided to _share_ that information with me at the time! For all I knew, the angel was back at Deerwater."

There was a pause as Dean's jaw tightened and he struggled to draw breath, and it was Jared who broke the silence. "You got Dean out of the state institute. Can you get… uh, Castiel out too?"

"It's not that easy, S - Jared," Dean said as he finally managed to calm down a little. "This isn't actually a psych ward; it's a little harder than the breakout you're imagining."

"Listen to your brother," Crowley added, rolling his eyes. "That trick only works once."

Dean nodded, though he hated that he and Crowley were on the same page about _anything_. "He'll be under Lucifer's highest guard, especially now we're on the run. This is gonna be a bitch to break into." He shot Crowley a glare. " _But_ that doesn't mean we aren't doing it."

Jared looked between the two of them, folding his arms across his chest. "What's the plan then?"

"The plan? Depends," Dean answered, still sending a look in the demon's direction. "Do we still have an inside man, or are you weaseling out?"

Crowley gave a melodramatic look of feigned hurt and innocence. "When have I _ever_ weaseled out of anything in the past? Relax, Winchester. I'd prefer it if you two morons actually succeeded, so yes, I'm still helping. Frankly, you two numbskulls won't survive this without me."

Dean ignored him, going straight to business. "What's the building layout? What about Cas? Where's he being held?"

"Third floor, room number two-hundred eighteen, wherever that is. I'll get you blueprints. It's not as if I've spent a large amount of time there." Crowley shrugged, not really seeming to care. "Guessing you know it better than I do."

Dean let out a snort. Like he'd actually been given the opportunity to learn where everything was. "Oh, yeah. Learned the way from my cell down the hall to the cafeteria real well."

"How's Sam's memory coming then?" Crowley asked. "Are you at least getting _close_?"

Close, yeah. There was definitely a lot of improvement showing, but… Dean glanced at Jared, giving him an opportunity to answer the question for himself, and just barely caught the tail end of a flinch. Shit. Awesome timing for this talk.

But to his credit, Jared just stared down at the ground with a frown, looking more displeased with himself than anything else at the moment, and forced himself to answer. "I can't…" He sighed. "I'm not remembering anything."

"Of _course_." Crowley shook his head in disgust.

"Look, I'm _sorry_ , okay?" Jared snapped, looking up suddenly with an icy glare. "I'm _trying._ There's only so much I can even do."

" _Hey_." Dean jumped to Jared's defense, scowling at the demon. "He's doing better than he's giving himself credit for. We were sparring today and he just went with it. Picked it up like he'd been fighting all his life." He looked away from Crowley to offer Jared an encouraging look and was rewarded by a slightly forced smile in return.

"Better than nothing, I suppose," Crowley muttered under his breath, but even he knew not to say anything else. No way was Dean gonna let the demon pick on his little brother - pick on Jared - right now. Or ever.

Feeling slightly accomplished, like maybe he'd won something after all, Dean turned to Sam. "So how d'you feel about a little road trip? I don't want Lucifer to have Cas any longer than he has to." Knowing Alastair's tendencies alone, Dean's gut tied itself in knots as guilt swamped him, but he refused to let it show on his face or in his voice.

Jared gave him a nod, but he stayed silent, apparently having nothing to say.

Crowley, on the other hand, never seemed to have that problem, a fact Dean bitterly lamented. "You're going to to take him with you?" the demon asked, slightly amused. "He's only going to get in the way, you know that."

"You wanna just leave him here?" Dean raised a challenging eyebrow. "Alone? Vulnerable?"

The demon considered the options for a moment before sighing in concession. "Yes, I suppose that might be a liability."

Dean turned to Jared, refusing to keep talking about him like he wasn't standing right there. "Look, I'm not planning on putting you in a big position. I don't think Lucifer'd kill you, he needs his vessel. But he wouldn't hesitate to hurt you, only to heal you once he made you say yes. So we need to keep you safe, but that's not gonna happen away from us." Before Jared could say anything to protest, Dean cut him off. "And _yes_ , you'll be able to help. There _are_ other ways of fighting than just charging in guns blazing."

"Alright then. Just tell me what to do," Jared said easily, seemingly unconcerned about putting his life on the line for someone he'd never even met. Just because Dean said they had to go.

The knot of guilt in Dean's gut twisted a little tighter.

Crowley gave Dean a look, scoffing quietly and ignoring Jared. "What was that I just heard? A Winchester admitting that going in guns blazing wasn't the only way of getting things done?" He snorted. "Impossible."

"Shut up." Dean shot him a glare. "Lucifer still trusts you?"

Crowley let out a sharp laugh. "Lucifer doesn't _trust_ anyone. But he still considers me useful, and doesn't exactly know that I'm helping you idiots, if _that's_ what you mean."

"So the plan's gonna be to get him from the inside, then," Dean nodded, frowning as he realized what the only option was. There was really only one way this would work out if they wanted to save Cas. "Which means you'll be bringing me in. Pretend you finally caught up with me."

"And what about Sam?" Crowley raised an eyebrow.

"You'll be backup," Dean told Jared, turning to the taller man again. "We can't use you as the bait, that's way too risky. So you'll have to be the one to cut me loose while _Crowley_ gets Cas. He's the only one of us who has any sort of cover. I'll be his excuse to get in."

"I can do that…" Jared sounded a little nervous, which Dean took as a good sign - the guy knew the stakes. Then again, he didn't look like he was about to piss himself from fear either. Perfect.

Well, as close to perfect as anything got these days.

Dean nodded. "You shouldn't come up with too much resistance. I think this'll work."

Crowley clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Well, sounds like a plan then. Question: What happens _after_ we get the bloody angel out, hm?"

The hunter turned, a half smirk on his face. "We hightail it as far from that hellhole as possible. Maybe once Cas remembers completely who and what he is, he can help us figure out how to break this. It's Angel mojo, and he _is_ an Angel. We don't exactly have a weapon that can kill an Archangel, so it looks like Cas's the best shot we got." Damn, that plan sounded flimsy even to his own ears.

Crowley let out a disbelieving scoff. "And how do you plan on getting him to remember, hmm? You're not getting very far with your own brother. Who say's you'll get anywhere with him?"

"Cas already remembers, you said." Really, the demon was making things sound worse than they actually were. Well… That could be debatable. "Should be easier. Plus," Dean shot Crowley a glare, instinctively stepping closer to Jared a little, "he hasn't been constantly drugged, concussed, and _grieving_."

The demon only rolled his eyes, folding his arms across his chest, muttering, "And there's the sentiment again…" He gave the two men a look. "Yes, Castiel remembers, but he doesn't remember the most important _part_ , now, does he?. His Angel mojo won't do us any good if he has to _completely_ relearn how to use it."

Apparently, Crowley wasn't getting the point. They were going to rescue Cas whether he was helpful in getting them out of the dream or not. However, Dean was willing to bet a fair sum of cash that the guy'd definitely be able to do something. "Well, you got a better plan? 'Cause right now, it's looking like Cas's the best chance we've got."

The demon sighed, looking one-hundred percent done with everything. "Unfortunately, no."

"Then it's settled." Dean grabbed the car keys, clapping a hand on Jared's shoulder briefly as he walked past him to the door. They didn't have time to lose. "Can't wait to get home. Miss my baby."

* * *

Dean might have missed his car, but if there was one thing he hadn't missed, it was the cold cement facade of the state institution. The squat building glared down at them, as if daring them to try anything. "Well." Dean scowled as he got out of the car and slammed the door behind him. "I said if I never saw this place again it'd be too soon." He surveyed the area with distaste. "I was right."

The plan was simple: Crowley would take Dean in, then cause a diversion once Dean was in his cell, which would give Jared the chance to walk in without being noticed and get to Dean. Then, they'd get to Cas and get out. Dean was well aware that plans rarely ended the way he wanted them to most of the time, but… Lucifer was still at Deerwater as far as they knew, and Alastair was dead.

Jared got out of the passenger's seat, looking around with slight interest. Meanwhile, Dean popped off the back of his cell phone to expose the battery pack, sliding a small chip inside before closing it back up again. He held out his hand and Jared took the hint, pulling out his own and handing it to him. Thankfully, the guy's phone had still been in his pocket when Alastair attacked, so they didn't even have to go get him one. Dean repeated what he'd done to his own phone to Jared's, before handing it back to him. "GPS trackers," he explained simply. "So you know where to find me."

Jared nodded, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. "Alright."

"And if the phone flashes red…" Dean shrugged, giving him a wry grin. "Well, then, you just haul ass right outta here, 'cause something went real bad real fast."

"If that happens, what about you?" Of course the guy wasn't going to just stop thinking about the wellbeing of others… Dean really wasn't sure what he was expecting, but part of him wished that just for once, Sam - well, Jared - would just concentrate on himself for once.

"I'm - I'll figure something out," Dean assured him, though frankly, he didn't know what he'd do. His greatest reassurance was that if he went down, so did Crowley.

Insightful as ever, Jared frowned. "Meaning you have no clue, and you could very well die."

"Oh, please, I'll be fine, man. Calm down." Dean rolled his eyes at him to help prove his point on how ridiculous Jared's concern was, hoping he'd let it pass.

However, the other man looked neither reassured nor amused. "I'd prefer not to lose my big brother before I even remember having one."

The words hit him more than they should've, and he finally understood what it would mean for Jared if Dean didn't come back from this. Sure, the guy was a grown man, but he'd have no one. More specifically, no one to protect him. He still didn't know much about the supernatural, and he was clearly aware of that fact. Not only would Dean's death cause him to lose the only real friend he had, it would leave him vulnerable.

Dean sighed, before looking him straight in the eye. "I won't let that happen, Sam. Besides," he added, "they won't kill me. If they wanted me out of the way, I'd be dead. They want me as leverage against you, which won't do any good." He frowned slightly. "I mean, you know better than to do some dumbass move for me, right?"

Jared opened his mouth to reply, before closing it as his expression faltered.

 _Dammit._

Dean already knew the answer to that question.

He gave the man a stern look, keeping his voice firm, though not harsh. " _Sam_."

There was a pause, but Jared finally answered, giving him a small, reassuring smile. "Come on, it's not gonna come to that, right?"

Dean saw his response as what it was - a way out of answering him, but he wasn't going to pressure him. After all, Dean wasn't going to _allow_ it come to that. This was just a simple jailbreak, after all. "Damn right it won't."

"...I mean, you _are_ sure this thing is going to pan out, yeah?" The question was casual and Jared's tone and expression didn't show any fear, but Dean saw right through it. He knew that Jared was nervous, and he had every reason to be.

So, as per usual, Dean gave him a big, fat, hopefully semi-comforting lie. "Of course, man. Aren't we always?"

"You tell me." Jared shrugged. "I wouldn't exactly know."

The comment made Dean snort, and he couldn't help but be grateful for it as the tension in the air seemed to dissipate a little. "Actually, yeah. Maybe that's a good thing. One of us should be optimistic." He clapped Jared on the shoulder, grinning a little.

Jared almost managed a smile before the blood drained from his face, leaving him deathly pale. He tried to hold back a hiss of pain, but Dean knew immediately that something was wrong. "Jared?" he asked, eyes going wide.

The man shook his head, eyes shut tightly to block out the light as he fought the pain of yet _another_ migraine. Dean swore as he realized what was happening. " _Jared,_ " he tried again. "Shit, shit, shit… not now. Not _now._ "

"Talk about bad timing…" Jared muttered with a frown as he sank to the ground behind the car. "I-I can't…"

Dean checked to make sure his brother's form was covered from anyone watching from the hospital. "Okay." Things were clear. "Okay." Sam - Jared - was sitting; he wasn't going to collapse and hurt himself worse. "Okay. Ah…" Dean looked helplessly at Crowley as his mind raced through the possibilities. "I don't know how long this'll last…"

Crowley shot him a look, clearly silently telling him to hurry it up and deal with Jared so they could get on with it.

"It's just a headache, Dean," Jared waved his concerns off. "I'm a grown man. I can handle a headache."

"Yeah, except it's not a headache, it's a supernatural migraine," Dean shook his head, "and who knows how bad this one's gonna be."

"I'll be _fine_ ," Jared insisted.

Since he clearly wasn't getting a real analysis of the situation from Jared, Dean reluctantly turned to Crowley. "What d'you think?"

He never got an answer, though. Time seemed to freeze for a moment as the demon grabbed his arm and spun him around.

The door had opened, and a burly looking man in hospital scrubs was striding quickly toward them.

 _Shit_. They couldn't let him see Sam, or their whole plan was shot. Clearly, Crowley was on the same page. Dean suddenly found his hands roughly twisted behind his back as he was shoved forward. Stumbling, he resisted the urge to fight back against the demon's grip and forced his panic down. This was all part of the plan. Jared would be able to pull through when the time came.

"Lose something?" Crowley asked the doctor lightly, shoving Dean forward a little harder than necessary. The hunter shot the demon an annoyed glare, only to be met with a smirk in return.

The doctor chuckled as he grabbed Dean's other arm, holding on hard enough that Dean could practically feel the bruises blooming on the tanned skin of his biceps. "It appears so. Lucky for us, you seem to have had no trouble returning it." He started toward the hospital, dragging Dean along behind.

Dean managed a last glance over his shoulder, getting in a quick wink to Jared that spoke of a cockiness he didn't feel. Then the door slammed shut behind him and the doctor's eyes flashed black as a cruel grin spread across his face.

"Welcome back, Dean Winchester."

* * *

 **Well, things are definitely starting to go down. We hope you enjoyed this chapter, so if you did, feel free to drop us a review! Thank you all! - Mimzy and Pixie**


	21. Back in Black

**Hey! This story's definitely nearing the end, unfortunately… However, we're not done yet, so you can look forward to a few more chapters or so! We hope you enjoy the chapter!**

 _ **Warnings for this chapter:**_ **Ah… Language, obviously. Maybe a tiny amount of blood, but nothing serious.**

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ **The show does not belong to us.**

* * *

" **Back in Black" - AC/DC**

* * *

The guard shoved Dean roughly forward. " _Move_ ," it growled, as if daring the hunter to disobey. Dean glared daggers but, at a warning look from Crowley, ducked his head, taking deep breaths to calm himself. They needed this plan to work. And if that meant swallowing his pride and allowing himself to be a prisoner for the time being, then dammit, he could do this.

He managed to keep his footing as he was pulled through corridor after corridor, concentrating on making a mental map of the building. After all, they needed to be able to get out again after they had found Cas. Down a long hall, sharp right, down a flight of stairs, then another… A left this time, through a set of double doors…

They finally stopped at a solid-looking steel door, and the demon pulled the key out of his pocket and unlocked it, opening it and pushing Dean inside. To make the whole scene more believable, Dean tried to jerk his wrist away and managed a single punch before his arms were wrenched behind his back again with a brutal twist. He bit back a stream of curses. Damn, he'd forgotten how strong demons were.

After all the acting he'd had to put up throughout this whole ordeal on top of everything else- from pretending to be Jensen to pretending to be a captive- Dean figured he deserved some sort of award for it all once he was out of the dream. Like an Emmy. Or at least one of the hot chicks that handed them out. Yeah, with the sequined dresses, and...

 _Shit_ \- that hurt. "Hey!" Dean complained loudly as the demon shoved him into the wall. "Watch it!" He struggled for effect as heavy manacles snapped shut around his wrists, and his captor laughed. "Good luck getting outta those, pretty boy."

Ruse or not, Dean _hated_ being chained up. Yeah, it was sometimes part of the job, but he would never get used to feeling so freaking helpless. The hunter tugged on the chains angrily, jaw set tight as he glared at the 'doctor' in front of him.

"I'll be back in a few hours," the demon said casually as it started toward the door, Crowley close behind, "to clean up whatever Lucifer leaves behind when he's through with you." He paused at the door to throw a cruel smirk back at the trapped hunter. "Don't expect it'll be too much." The heavy door slammed shut with a resounding bang, and a heavy lock fell.

Pushing any anxiety he had about the plan aside (and that was damn hard to do in his position), Dean scanned the room, looking up at the beeping red dot on the security camera placed in the corner. Crowley had said he would take care of 'everything,' and Dean assumed - hoped - that 'everything' included cameras.

Next the hunter set to work on the cuffs around his wrist. The demon had been right, they were tough. Not impossible… but tough. Dean could get them off, given enough time. Problem was, time wasn't exactly on his side at the moment. For the first time, it really hit him how utterly dependent he was on this plan working. If something, _anything_ went even the slightest bit wrong... He wouldn't think about that.

Nothing was going to go wrong.

Yeah, right. He was a _Winchester_. It wasn't a question of 'would anything go wrong,' it was really more ' would anything go _right_?'

It all depended on Jared. The last time Dean had seen the guy, he'd been having a migraine. He could only hope the guy had managed to pull it together, otherwise they were all screwed. But honestly, Dean had a feeling that Jared could and would do whatever was needed at this point. He was a man who had lost his wife, son, his whole damn world, and he knew his own neck was next on the chopping block. Jared was, in every sense of the word, a man with nothing left to lose - and that fact was all Dean's fault.

Dean waited impatiently, sending the occasional glare at the blinking light of the security camera, before the blinking stopped, the camera seemingly shut off. After a few moments, he could hear a shout from down the hall and the distinctive wail of an alarm from the distance

He grinned. It was go time.

* * *

Crowley smirked to himself, brushing off his blazer and starting to walk down the hall. Yes, everything was fitting into place quite nicely. Now, if the Winchesters could just keep from making any mistakes…

Dean would do his part, he was certain. Sam, however? Crowley was less than confident in the amnesiac's abilities, despite Dean's reassurances. He'd been forced to work with 'Jared,' and he knew very well that the man was much too _normal_ to be of any use here.

He wasn't even sure if saving Castiel was all that worth it. It was a huge risk, really, and they couldn't know for sure whether or not the angel would help at all. This whole prison break-in was just overflowing with unwanted sentiment on Dean's part.

Still, he needed to keep Dean on his side if he had any hope of overthrowing Lucifer. If he had to suffer one more century under that blasted archangel's thumb… He wasn't even a demon, for Hell's sake! Sure, he might have created them, but he wasn't one of them, and that's what mattered. The time had come long ago for a new leader. The age of the angels was ending - the demonic era was about to rise.

It was altogether too easy to slip past security. Crowley hadn't expected this sort of incompetence from Lucifer, of all people, but then again… Lucifer was at Deerwater. Alastair was the one who'd been in charge of this dump.

Crowley nodded at the bored guard and was waved past into the second wing of cells. He'd done his part, so really, he was free to go. However, he needed to make sure that the Winchesters got out unharmed. Last thing he wanted was for 'Jared' to be caught and dragged to Deerwater. From the lower cell block, it was child's play to slip into the control room and enter the system, giving him full access to all the alarms.

He glanced over the building layout, choosing the wing farthest from the Winchester boys, and flipped the switch. In the distance, a klaxon started to blare. Easily wiping the system memory that he had ever been there, Crowley left the cell block with a determined stride. His role was done. If the boys wanted their angel back, it was on them now.

Or so he had thought.

"Crowley," an all-too-familiar voice greeted him from behind, making him stop short. The tone was friendly enough, of course, but Crowley was no fool. "Where _ever_ are you going?"

* * *

Jared looked up as the alarm split the stillness of the night. Even from outside the building, it was loud, and he winced as the noise made his head pound. But he didn't have time to sit and nurse his headache like a child. That'd been the signal, and he couldn't afford to waste time.

The man double (okay, maybe triple) checked that the area was clear before he stuck his head up over the roof of the car. No one was paying him any attention, just like Dean had promised. Guards were rushing to one side of the building, none even sparing a second glance for the lone figure that slunk around the facility in the shadows.

The side door was left open, just as Dean had promised it would be. Jared guessed that as shady as Crowley was, the guy could still keep his word - when it benefited him. He entered cautiously, all senses tingling on high alert as adrenaline flooded his veins.

He stepped softly into a deserted corridor. The guard post was empty, the security camera wasn't blinking red. Crowley had effectively created a dead zone for him. And if he stuck to the map, it would last him all the way to Dean's cell.

Walking quickly, Jared went through the halls, glancing at the paper in his hand every so often. Truthfully, he was pretty sure he wasn't cut out for this. This wasn't some spy movie, and he was definitely _not_ the charming hero who could break into any safe in ten seconds or less. Unfortunately, he was all they really had. Dean needed him, and so he'd get his job done.

He found the hallway that was supposed to lead up to Dean's cell, relieved that, as promised, it was deserted, too. He fished the bolt-cutters out of his jean pocket and brought them up to the padlock on the door. Gritting his teeth with effort, he squeezed until the metal snapped under the blades and fell free with a satisfying _clank_.

Alright, so that wasn't so difficult. He pushed the door open to find Dean standing only six feet away from him, chained to the wall, a restless expression on his face. "Took you long enough," the man muttered irritably as Jared hurried to cut him free. "Where were you?"

"I thought I did pretty well," Jared defended himself as they headed down the hall towards the other cell where Dean's friend - Castiel? - was supposedly being kept. "For my first break-in."

Dean nodded, acknowledging the point."Sorry- I just _really_ hate being bait."

They turned into another hallway and made their way down all the way to the last door. Dean checked the map. "This is it," he mumbled, taking the bolt-cutters from Jared and easily cutting through the lock. Dean glanced at Jared briefly, looking almost nervous and swallowing hard, before turning away and pushing the door open.

The smell of blood hit them like a solid force. Jared's eyes went wide and he took a step back, but Dean's face just hardened. He pushed the door all the way open and slowly entered the small cell.

It took a moment for Jared to get a grip and actually follow him.

By the time he made his way into the cell, Dean had already cut the prisoner free. The man was dressed in all-too familiar hospital scrubs… but they were soaked with blood, torn and sticking to the man's skin. His dark hair was matted to his head and his face was torn and bruised, but when he turned his icy blue eyes to Jared, he was frozen under the intensity of the other man's stare.

"Sam," the strange man said simply.

* * *

Crowley turned around immediately to face the voice, clasping his hands together and sending a grin in the devil's direction. "Well, I'd managed to capture that pesky Winchester, and after making sure everything was in do order, I thought I'd just show myself out. Things seem to be heating up here, and since my job seems to be done, I thought I'd leave your boys to fix whatever mess has been made now."

"Without even saying hello?" Lucifer clucked his tongue in disapproval, shaking his head. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you didn't _like_ me anymore, Crowley."

How was he supposed to _greet_ the bloody archangel when he wasn't even expecting to see him there? Lucifer was supposed to be at Deerwater, not _here_ of all places. Out of all the things that could have gone wrong, this was the worst - and it was all the Winchesters' fault.

Crowley resisted the urge to grit his teeth. "How fortunate that you know better then, hm?"

Lucifer smiled broadly. "But you did bring me my second favorite Winchester. A truly… inspired gift, I must say. I'm sure he knows where his brother is. With just the right amount of pressure, I'm sure we'll be able to, ah, break him." He clapped an arm around Crowley's shoulders. "And _you_ get to help." The archangel gave the demon's shoulder a tight squeeze and started to steer Crowley towards Dean's cell- exactly where he was supposed to be heading _away_ from. Damn it all.

"There _is_ the small matter of the class one security breach in the east wing," Crowley said, trying for an unaffected air as he walked and resisting a frown when his attempt to shrug off Lucifer's hand failed miserably. "It'd be a bit more prudent to secure that first, don't you think? We can leave the squirrel to stew a while."

Lucifer snorted at Crowley's nickname for Dean, but shook his head. "I'll leave it for someone else to deal with. As for 'Squirrel,' his cell isn't where we're headed. I wanted to check in on Castiel while I was here. After all, he's my little brother."

Crowley started to reply, but Lucifer continued. "I had to suppress his grace to keep him under complete control, which meant he doesn't remember everything. I'll admit, that does take away from some of the fun." Lucifer let out a dramatic sigh. "Ah, well." Lucifer grinned at him, a dark look gleaming in his eyes. "Let's go pay Cas a visit, shall we?"

If Lucifer's tight grip on his shoulder was anything to go by, Crowley figured he might as well have waved a sign around that read 'Working with Winchesters' at this point. While it wasn't confirmed, there was a mutual understanding that Lucifer had caught on - perhaps he'd known the entire time. The devil was everything but a fool, and it was common knowledge that trying to trick him typically didn't end well.

Damn the bloody Winchesters.

* * *

"Sam," Cas croaked, eyes wide. But before he could keep talking, Dean shifted so he was blocking the view between the two. Jared was a civilian and really didn't need to see this, and Cas needed to focus on Dean for a moment.

"Hey- hey, Cas, later, okay?" Dean hissed, quietly but with intensity. "We're gonna get you outta here and then figure that out. Okay?" When the angel nodded, still not taking his eyes off Sam, Dean nodded along with him. "Good. Okay. Let's get you vertical, then."

He looped an arm under Cas's, keenly aware of how much every small movement was hurting his friend. The guilt brewing in Dean's chest - 'cause he couldn't forget that this was all his fault in the first place - just grew. There wasn't time to be overly gentle though. Crowley's diversion wasn't going to last forever.

"Come on, c'mon, here we go…" Dean grunted empty encouragements as he helped Cas take the first shaky step towards freedom, struggling under what was mostly dead weight. Hot blood dripped down his back and he flinched internally. "I gotcha, I gotcha… Jared, get the door-"

But Jared didn't have to.

Lucifer was already there, leaning on the doorframe with a smirk. "Hey, kids!" He waved a little at the three of them. "Having _fun_?"

* * *

 **Well, things definitely just got more dramatic. We'd love to hear what you thought of the chapter, so feel free to leave a review if you want. Thanks! -Mimzy and Pixie**


	22. Play the Game Tonight

**Heya! We know we left you all at a bit of a cliffhanger last chapter, so sorry for that!**

 _ **Warnings for this chapter:**_ **Ah, language, angst, blood, angst, some blood and a little gore, perhaps, and angst. And watch out for the blood, because it's there.**

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ **We own nothing in this story - besides Scott, who was an OC. An argument could also be made that Jared is also technically an OC, and therefore is also ours.**

* * *

" **Play the Game Tonight" - Kansas**

* * *

Dean froze, still trying to support Cas's weight as Lucifer strolled into the room, slowly clapping his hands. "Well done, kids, very nice," he chuckled. "Just… not quite good enough, I'm afraid. Did you _really_ think you could just stroll in here, bring _him_ , of all people-" here he waved a hand at Jared- "and get away with it?"

Holding Cas up with one arm, Dean reached out and grabbed Jared's shirt, yanking the man back behind him. It was feeble protection against the devil himself, but it was one more layer Lucifer had to go through before he could touch Jared. And if that was all the protection Dean could offer, then dammit, he was gonna give it.

Lucifer seemed to find the action amusing, a small smile gracing his lips as he shook his head. "It's really no use, y'know." He took a few steps forwards, now only a foot or so away from where Dean stood, still wearing that knowing grin. "You can't protect your brother from me forever, although I do appreciate the effort you've put into this. I must say, I'm very glad you've kept my vessel safe for all these years. Now, however, it's time for you to let go. Job's over." He took another step forwards, his grin broadening and looking behind Dean at Jared. "It's my turn now."

Like hell it was.

Dean glanced over his shoulder. Jared was standing frozen in terror - and probably a little confusion, as he'd expected. And Cas was out for the count… Alright, so things weren't looking good.

Behind Lucifer stood Crowley, who was wearing a rather sincere expression on his face that read 'oops.' Crowley stood still for a moment, as if considering something, before muttering a quiet curse and vanishing. Utterly _typical._ Dean renewed his promise to himself that as soon as they all got out of this mess, the demon was dead. Lucifer either didn't notice or didn't care, focusing all his attention on Dean, Jared, and Cas.

"As you've noticed, there's no way out here," Lucifer stated, casually glancing around the cell and stuffing his hands into his pockets, a satisfied edge to his tone. "You might as well just give in. It'll make everything much more simple. Then I won't have to hurt you or anyone else here to get my way."

As if he wouldn't anyway just for kicks.

Cas shifted a little, mumbling something under his breath, but Dean couldn't hear what he was saying. He started to lower the angel to the ground. No doubt being upright so long was painful, and having both his hands free would give Dean a better opportunity to defend the three of them if-when it came down to it.

It didn't matter that defending Jared and Cas wouldn't work for long; Dean wasn't just going to give up and let Lucifer get a hold of his little brother. He'd die first, if it was necessary. And he had a bad feeling that it just might be.

"Well, what fun would that be?" Dean replied, smirking with a cockiness he didn't feel. "Just roll belly up and let you have free reign? Sorry. Guess I'm not feeling it."

"Unfortunately," Lucifer said, flicking his wrist and flinging Dean and Cas against the wall so he could step forward and stand face to face with a cowering Jared, "that's not your decision to make."

Son of a- _Ow_. Dean struggled against the invisible bonds holding him captive, but he couldn't even pull his limbs away from the wall. He was utterly pinned, suspended at least two feet above the ground. A grunt of effort from beside him told him that Cas was struggling too, and having about an equal amount of success.

"Hey, Sam," Lucifer's tone was eerily calm as he drew close to the taller man, but his eyes gleamed with excitement. "'Bout time we met for real."

"Stay away from me," Jared growled, holding up shaking fists. A surge of pride swelled in Dean's chest despite the futility of the gesture. Jared wasn't going to just given in. He was going to fight for himself. Hopefully he wouldn't have to for long, but Dean needed him to hold out until he figured out a plan.

He glanced at Cas, almost surprised when he saw the angel's eyes start to glow faintly. Cas had forgotten about his powers, hadn't he? And if Cas had started to remember again… With an angel on their side, they might just be able to get out of this alive, regroup and come back with a plan. Finally, _something_ was going right.

"Now, now, Sam," Lucifer tutted, shaking his head like he was a teacher dealing with a particularly stubborn student. "None of that. Come on, this doesn't have to be so bad. You let me in willingly, we can work out a deal." He took a step closer; Jared took a step back. "I want us to be friends. I'm not really that bad a guy. You say yes willingly; I can guarantee your friends' safety. Probably even big brother Dean's, too."

"Don't trust him, Ja-" Dean managed to grunt out before an invisible hand was at his throat, cutting off his air. He choked, face turning bright red with strain and head spinning, vaguely aware that Jared was shouting something - his name? - until finally, mercifully, the pressure faded and he was again allowed to gulp in long breaths of the foul cell air. Lucifer didn't want him dead just yet, apparently.

Jared's shoulders sagged in relief as he saw Dean suck in a shaky breath again. When he was able, Dean glanced back at Cas, who looked furious and still a little confused all at the same time, his eyes now glowing brighter as he struggled against his invisible bonds.

Lucifer chuckled, the change in his prisoner's attitude not going unnoticed. "Getting antsy there, little bro?" He turned away from Jared, walking closer to the angel.

"I-I… I don't understand," Cas grunted, his brow furrowed. "What's… what's happening to me? I feel… power, in my chest."

"Well, you see," Lucifer began didactically, an easy smile on his face. "The cuffs on the chains that held you captive are a bit special. Because… well, let's just say _you're_ a little bit special, Castiel."

"I don't…" Cas began, but Lucifer cut him off again.

"I'm Lucifer," he explained, not dropping the air of the overly-friendly schoolteacher for a moment. "The Archangel. And _you_ , Cassie… You are my baby brother, Castiel. The Seraph. An angel of the Lord."

Dean tried to say something, but he found that his voice wasn't working. Dammit. Apparently Lucifer was tired of his voice already.

Castiel's eyes were wide, and he looked over at Dean, who could only nod, confirming it. "I knew…" the angel murmured, deep in thought. "I knew there was something I was missing. Something just… not right."

"Yes, yes. Couldn't _quite_ put your finger on it, though, could ya?" the devil laughed a little. "One of the side effects of those neat little cuffs I was talking about, little brother. Grace-binding. They basically made you as powerless, as vulnerable as any one of the filthy mud-monkeys scrambling around down here."

"But now…" Cas's eyes started to glow blue, his entire body shaking with power and fury. "I'm free. Dean broke the chains, and their hold over my Grace." The angel's trembling grew, and Dean allowed himself a moment of hope.

Castiel strained against Lucifer's Grace, managing to push himself a foot or so across the wall before his strength gave out and Lucifer's power slammed him into the concrete again, his head connecting with a sickening crack. Cas grunted in pain, eyes slamming closed as the glow of power fade from them. Lucifer outright laughed at this, and Dean sighed, disappointed.

"Free of the cuffs, yes," Lucifer chuckled softly and shook his head, ruffling Cas's hair with a flick of his Grace like Cas was a particularly amusing dog. "But you're only a Seraph, Cassie. A pretty powerful one, I'll admit, but nowhere near the strength of an Archangel."

Cas flinched away from the gentle touches of Lucifer's Grace, scowling. His eyes no longer glowed blue with Grace, but they flashed defiantly regardless. "Don't patronize me," he growled furiously.

"Temper, temper," Lucifer chided, but he was still smiling. "Lucky for you, you're leverage for Sammy here to behave. I won't hurt you." His gaze snapped back to Jared, intense blue eyes making the giant man cringe. "If he decides to take me up on my offer."

Silence hung over the room for a moment as Jared hesitated, clearly out of his mind with terror - and for good reason. If Dean didn't have to be strong for him and Cas right then, he'd be just as terrified. "I-I…"

* * *

" _If_ he decides to take me up on my offer."

The devil was staring at him, eyes boring straight through his skull. Jared flinched. Jesus- what the hell was he supposed to do? Somehow he doubted he could bring this enemy down with the right hook Dean'd had him practicing the other day, and lives were on the line here. Not just his own, but Dean's and Castiel's, too. He had to do something, something brave, something unexpected… He couldn't say yes, but he couldn't just let them _die_. "I-I…" he tried to stall, eyes flitting anxiously around the room.

Yeah, he definitely wasn't cut out to be any sort of hero. There wasn't anything he could do, from the looks of it, besides just… not say yes. Dammit. It was hopeless.

He was just a nurse. He wasn't like Dean, and it was obvious that Lucifer knew it. The devil was playing on his weakness, counting on the fact that he had no idea what to do. Jared looked up at Dean and Castiel, an apology shining in his eyes. He couldn't say yes, he knew that much. And they were going to pay for it.

" _No_ ," he finally whispered, but in the suffocating silence of the cell, the word was nearly lost, dying before it had even fully left his lips. He coughed, clearing his throat, and tried again. " _No_." This time, the refusal was stronger, more sure, and he looked up enough to see Dean practically beaming with pride.

Somehow, that made him feel even more guilty. Dean knew full well what was coming to him if Jared said no, and he didn't care. He just wanted Jared - well, Sam, more likely - safe; wanted the world safe. Dean was the hero here, not Jared. Wetting his lips, Jared took a deep breath and met the devil's suddenly icy stare with his own. "I won't do it. I'm not helping you."

"Now, be reasonable, Sam," Lucifer gave him a disapproving look. "I _will_ kill them if I must - right here, right now. Don't make me kill my brother. He really doesn't deserve it."

Jared just shook his head. Satan paused a moment, switching tactics. "All you have to do is say yes. It's what you were made for. I _created_ you for this, Jared. You wouldn't even exist without me. I'm the one who gave you all those nice memories with Jess and little Scott. I've done _so_ much for you, and all I want is one little word in return."

The words hit harder than Jared cared to admit. He'd accepted that the devil had created illusions - he'd even accepted that Scott had been one, although it still hurt like an open wound. But somehow it had never hit him that Lucifer had made _him_ up too.

He wasn't 'Sam,' he knew that. He knew he was just the intruder in Sam's head, using Sam's body. But he hadn't considered that he only _existed_ because the devil wanted to use him. He had been created to be nothing more than Lucifer's tool.

"I don't care," Jared swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth as he bit out the lie. He did care, but not because he felt obligated to obey. Lucifer might have created him, and that was earth-shattering in itself, but the devil had given him - had _needed_ to give him free will. Jared couldn't say yes if he didn't have a choice. He had been created with the ability to say no. An ability he was going to exercise to its fullest capacity.

Lucifer seemed to consider his response for a moment, head cocked to the side as he observed Jared, taking in his tense posture and defiant glare. "So nothing I say's going to convince you to let me in?"

Jared swallowed, glancing at Dean before he responded, his voice cracking slightly. "Th-that seems about right. It's not happening." Dean offered him what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile, but it didn't do much for Jared, given the circumstances.

He had braced himself for anger, for wrath and fury and hellfire, but the devil simply smiled at him pleasantly. "Is that your final answer?"

Jared was about to answer, when the devil snapped his fingers. There was motion behind him, and then the door to the cell swung open again. A guard was dragging a person in, a woman. Jared couldn't see her face, it was hidden by long hair matted dark with blood, but he had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that he knew who it was.

The woman looked up with what seemed to be an enormous effort, and his suspicions were confirmed. A few stray strands of hair clung to the blood that streaked down Jess's - no, _Ruby's_ \- face. "J-Jared…" Her voice was weak and near broken, and it _hurt_.

God, it hurt. So bad that he had to look away.

He didn't even know how to react. She didn't love him - she was a demon, she'd been using him the whole time. Hell, 'Jess,' the woman he'd fallen for at Stanford, his bride, the mother of his child, she wasn't even _real_.

But… He loved her. Or, rather, he loved who he'd thought she was. So much. More than anything in the world, tied with their son. He couldn't help himself. They were his family. _She_ was his family. How could he just push that away and forget it?

Dean would tell him to those feelings from his mind, tell him that he should be angry. And Jared was - he was furious. His whole life had been a hoax, a lead up, a _trap_. The demon in front of him had played him like a fool, made him think she loved him, only to stab him in the back. Jared should _hate_ her.

Yet he still didn't, even after everything, and that's why it all just hurt so much. He hadn't wanted to see her ever again for that very reason. He didn't want to have to deal with this, and the devil was shoving it all in his face.

He couldn't do this.

"Jared," she choked out again with watery brown eyes, silently pleading with him to save her. Every fiber of his being was telling him to help her - to protect his wife and keep her from suffering any longer. But she wasn't his wife.

Jared took a deep breath, looking at her broken face. "Ruby." That's who she was. Ruby. Not Jess. There was no Jess. There never had been a Jess.

She inhaled sharply, before letting out a quiet, heart-wrenching whimper. "No…" Even more tears flowed down her cheeks. "No, J-Jared - Sam. It's not - not like that. I really do l-love you, p-please. You -" Before she could finish her sentence, the devil held a knife to her throat.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, daring Jared to try him. "You were saying?"

 _Oh, God._ Oh, Christ no, he couldn't- he couldn't do this, he couldn't play _mind games_ when _lives_ hung in the balance. How the hell was he supposed to gamble with the fate of the world and the lives of his friends and family?

Je- Ruby was still crying, tears smearing her mascara and mixing it with blood, painting her face in stripes of red and gray. "J-Jared, p-please-" She was playing him, using him, counting on his weakness to get her out of this alive. He knew it; he could _see_ what she was doing. He wasn't oblivious anymore.

"You know I'll do it."

Jared looked up at Dean, still struggling against his invisible bonds and gag, and then back at Ruby. He had to do this. He had to, because if he didn't even more people would die. Good people. "I-I… I can't."

"No!" Ruby's eyes widened in panic. "Jared-!"

She never got the chance to finish her sentence.

"Pity," Lucifer sighed, and then with one swift flick of his wrist, he had drawn the knife across her throat. A long line of blood appeared across her neck and Jared thought he could see the inside of her throat ( _oh Jesus_ ) before she sank to the floor, unnaturally boneless.

Jared quickly turned his eyes away from the gory scene. A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed the bile he could feel attempting to rise. He couldn't look at her limp form. He couldn't. He blinked a few times, cursing himself for the tears starting to sting his eyes.

"What?" Lucifer chuckled, amused by his reaction. "Are we _squeamish_?"

Jared wanted to scream at him, tell him to shut up - to just _stop_ , but no words came out. He didn't know if he could form words anymore. ' _J-Jared…'_ the demon's pleas filled his mind, blocking out coherent thought as his heart pounded audibly in his ears and the world rushed around him, circling in on the red, red, _red_ still steadily leaking from what had been his wife's throat not moments before.

 _-A throat he had once peppered with kisses, fastened a necklace around, nipped at, nuzzled; a throat that had talked, sung, breathed-_

Lucifer bent over, grabbing a fistful of the dead woman's hair and yanking her body up. The way he lifted her made the gash in her throat gape open, dark and red and wet. The devil dragged the corpse towards him, and Jared quickly backed up in response, only to find himself backed into a wall. Lucifer held Ruby up by the hair with one hand, gripping Jared's chin with the other so that he was forced to look straight into her dead eyes. " _This_ is on you, kid," Lucifer hissed, shaking the corpse a little. The gash on its neck tore a little further as the dead weight of the body shook. "Her blood is on _your hands_."

Maybe a better man would have done something bold, daring- spit in Lucifer's face, maybe, shoved the body away, fired some sort of snarky one-liner. Jared just stared into Je- _Ruby's_ glassy eyes and fought to keep the contents of his stomach down.

Then his chin was released and Lucifer was forcing the body into his hands. Blood seeped through the arm of his flannel shirt, hot and sticky, and he sank to the ground as Lucifer backed up a few feet and gave him the space to do so. Kneeling on the cold stone floor and cradling his wife's body, the smell of blood and death thick in the air, Jared started to cry.

He didn't even realize it at first, not until a teardrop landed on the body below him, a clear drop that broke the dark pool of blood. But then the tears came faster and faster and they wouldn't _stop_ and then Jared wasn't sure why he cared that they did in the first place. He was practically sobbing now, red faced and snotty nosed like Scott would be after a nightmare, but his whole world had gone to Hell and he would be damned if he was going to get self-conscious over _crying_ , of all things.

Jared was distantly aware of voices shouting. Dean. It had to be Dean, which a small part of Jared's brain thought was odd, since Dean hadn't spoken for a while - hadn't been able to speak. Apparently Lucifer had decided to let him talk again. "What the _hell_ was that?" the voice demanded. "Thought she was one of yours!"

And then he could hear Lucifer, a small laugh. "One of mine? She was disposable. Replaceable. And besides, I thought you _wanted_ this. I really did you a favor here."

"Not like _this_ , you _son of a bitch_!" Dean again. "Not in front of _him_!"

The voices kept going, but Jared tuned them out. Not important. It wasn't important.

 _Why couldn't he stop shaking, he was shaking, gasping for breath, holding the body tight to his chest in a futile effort to keep it warm-_

A voice broke into his already scattered thoughts, eerily calm and composed. "Now. Do you want to... reconsider that decision?"

Jared shook his head, still staring at his wife's bloody face, at the empty look in her glazed eyes. Somehow, he found his voice. "N-no…" he whispered, but it was a feeble protest.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. "Are you _sure_? You didn't like what happened the last time you refused that question." As if he needed a fucking reminder.

Jared's grip on his wife loosened, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably as he lowered her so she rested on the floor. "I-I… I can't." His voice was stronger this time, if still shaky.

"Oh, but…" Lucifer grinned, cruel and feral. "I think you can." And with a simple snap of his fingers, Dean was falling forward from where he'd been pinned to the wall, landing hard on his knees on the cell floor.

The hunter had barely enough time for a stifled grunt of pain at the impact before Lucifer had him in an iron grip, head yanked back to expose his throat, blade pressed up against the pale, vulnerable flesh there. He hissed at the slight pain as Lucifer pressed down _just_ hard enough to draw a thin line of blood.

"N-no…" Jared stammered, eyes wide with terror. "D-don't, _please_ …" Begging wouldn't do any good. Begging wouldn't save Dean. There was only one thing he could say that would.

Dean seemed to know what he was thinking. Despite the blade to his throat, he stared directly at Jared, and his voice was hard but steady as he spoke. "Jared. Don't."

All Jared could do was stare back, eyes wide. Dean knew what that meant for him. It was a death sentence. And maybe _he_ could handle it, but he wasn't the one that had to live on after the fact.

Lucifer sighed, looking bored with the entire situation. "Now. I'll ask again." He the blade a little deeper into Dean's skin, and Jared could hear the other man grunt in pain. "Will you. Let me. In?"

Jared glanced back down at Ruby's body, her lifeless eyes staring up at nothing, and that's when it finally clicked. He understood now. They'd all been played. He forced down a choked laugh at the realization, wondering how he hadn't seen it earlier. Everything made sense now.

This was Lucifer's game, his chessboard, and he knew exactly how to play it. He hadn't just tricked them; he'd _manipulated_ them into following his rules. They had never stood a chance. Even if they hadn't chosen to rescue Castiel, even if Crowley had never rescued Dean, the ball had been in Lucifer's court the whole time. Everything would work out as Lucifer wanted, because they were trying to beat him at a game only he knew how to play when he had all the cards.

No matter what choices they made or what they did, so long as they stayed in Lucifer's world - the only one Jared had ever known - they would always end up _here_.

Jared wasn't an idiot. He knew fully well that the devil would just kill Dean and Castiel anyway, no matter what he did. If he didn't say yes now, Lucifer would find some other way to make him do what he wanted.

There wasn't any point in fighting it, not really. If there was, he would. It wasn't like he was just giving up, either. He would've refused Lucifer for as long as he could under different circumstances. But… He couldn't just let Dean die without doing _something_.

There was no other choice. There was no other way.

And that was what broke him.

"Yes," Jared choked out. What choice did he have?

"Jared, don't do this," Dean warned in a shaking voice, and for the first time Jared saw real fear in his eyes. He wished he had time to explain, to really apologize, but… Jared turned to look at Dean, instantly regretting it. "I'm sorry." It was all he could say, given the circumstances.

He looked away from his friend to see a triumphant smile spreading across the devil's face. Lucifer's eyes seemed to twinkle. "I'm sorry, my hearing must be going. You mind repeating that, Sam?"

"Yes," Jared stood up, trying to ignore the feeling of Ruby's blood staining his shirt, gluing it to his chest. "You heard me. That's what you want, right? For me to say yes? That'll make you let them go." He doubted it, but he could always hope that maybe even the devil had a little decency. And it was the only shot he had

Lucifer's eyes glowed bright blue, brighter than Castiel's had, and he smiled at Jared as he extended a hand, palm up. "Give me your hand."

"Jared! _NO!_ "

Jared knew Dean didn't get it - he knew the man hadn't realized how hopeless the situation was. If Dean was going to die, Jared could at least say he tried to save him.

He slowly stretched his trembling hand out to meet Lucifer's, taking in a last deep breath. He hadn't wanted any of this to happen. He'd never wanted anything to do with any of this.

All he'd wanted to do was help.

* * *

 **And so marks the passing of Jared. He will be missed. We hope you enjoyed the cliffhanger, along with the rest of the chapter. Feel free to drop us a review. Local legend has it that reviewing makes the week go by faster so you can get the next chapter sooner. Clapping twice and turning around in a circle might also help, according to local legend. Thanks! - Mimzy and Pixie**


	23. Seven Devils

**Hola! We hope you've all survived the wait for this chapter (some of the reviews have made us worry that a few of you didn't), and we're happy to present yet another chapter, as promised.**

 **Besides language, there is… little to no warnings for this chapter. Angst, perhaps?**

 **We do not own** _ **Supernatural**_ **.**

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" **Seven Devils" - Florence and the Machine**

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No. No. This wasn't happening.

Jared was supposed to know better. He did know better. Dean had told him what was at stake. His blood ran cold, the color instantly draining from his face as he watched the world fall apart. " _No_!" A bright white light filled the room, so bright he had to look away, and then - Lucifer's previous vessel crumpled to the floor with a thump beside Ruby's corpse.

"No, no, no, _no_!" Dean was keenly aware of the way his body was trembling. He wanted to step forward, to grab his brother, his friend, his ally by the shoulder and shake some sense into him… but the man wearing that familiar face was no longer any of those things. "Sammy…" he whispered. " _No_."

"Oh-ho-ho…" The thing wearing his brother's face looked up, a satisfied smile on his face that was so _not Sam_ , _not Jared_ that it made his blood run cold through his veins, nearly stopping his heart. "Sammy's a bit preoccupied at this moment. Maybe try leaving a message at the beep."

Castiel was in similar shock, staring. "Brother… no."

Lucifer ignored Cas, clapping his hands together once. Without any warning, Dean was pushed back to the floor as a strong wind started to whip around the cell.

"What's going on?!" Dean asked, forced to raise his voice to be heard over the sudden, invisible force swirling around the cell. He looked around, struggling against the wind and bracing on the wall as he stumbled to his feet once again. "What did you just do?"

"I'm bringing us back to our reality!" Lucifer answered as if it were obvious, raising his voice as well. "I have no more need for this world, not when there's the Apocalypse in our own to manage!"

Of course. Dean should've figured. The devil wasn't one to waste time if he didn't have to. There was a loud cracking noise from the center of the room, and the wind shoved him against the wall with a shimmer of light, before it seemed to disappear all together. For a few seconds, there was absolute silence. No loud wind or anything.

Then there was a quiet thundering coming from the distance, and Lucifer smiled slightly, looking around the room and sticking his hands in his pockets.

"It's spreading," the devil explained calmly, apparently having noticed Dean's confused expression. "We're at the center of it all - the eye of the storm. We'll be the last to go." There was still a soft rumbling in the far distance - the sound of an entire world slowly falling apart.

All Dean had wanted for the last few weeks had been to wake up, and now all he was going to wake up to was Lucifer wearing his kid brother's face. There was a certain empty feeling in his chest, and the cell seemed to grow a little darker than it had been before.

Cas - no longer held to the wall as he'd been before - moved closer to Dean, standing in front of him slightly as if to protect him. Dean grabbed his sleeve, trying to yank him back behind him, but Cas stayed where he was, refusing to move.

"Cas…" Dean tugged Cas's sleeve again, trying to get him to step back. He wasn't losing both of them in one day. He wasn't going to watch that - he couldn't.

"No, Dean," Cas shook his head, only to step to the side just a little so Dean was behind him even more.

Lucifer let out a harsh laugh, his eyes - Sam's eyes - lighting up in cruel amusement. "Ah, this is just too much. It's almost touching, but… It's really not." He looked at Castiel, his expression almost softening. "These humans you're falling for - they're not good, Cassie. They're all wicked. _Monsters_. You see that, don't you? They'll taint you, just like they taint everything else."

Castiel stayed silent, glaring at him.

The devil sighed, but he didn't exactly look too disappointed. "Thought you might say that. Or - not say that. You chose your side, Cas." Lucifer flicked his wrist, sending Cas flying past Dean and into the wall again, pinning him there once more. "Now you'll have to pay for it."

"Don't. Just - don't you dare," Dean spat out at the implied threat, fighting back the tears threatening to spill. His vision was getting blurry, but he could still see the smirk on his brother's face clearly. He moved so he was in front of Cas, a futile attempt to protect the angel.

"Oh, you're really taking this badly, aren't you?" Sam- Jared - Lucifer raised an eyebrow, looking at him with false sympathy. " _Poor thing_. I did warn you. This was inevitable."

Dean looked up, his gaze watery but his eyes hard with his fury.

And then Lucifer laughed.

The familiar laugh, distorted almost beyond recognition, sent Dean spiraling over the edge. " _You_ -" he was screaming, throwing himself at Lucifer, determined to somehow, _somehow_ just _rip_ him out of his brother's body, to tear him to shreds, to make him suffer slowly and painfully before what would eventually be a merciful death.

But Lucifer just waved a hand, rolling his eyes at the hunter's stupidity, and Dean went flying across the room again. "Me."

Dean let out a grunt out of pain as he hit the wall and fell to the hard floor, struggling to his feet. "Cas…" Helplessly, he looked over to the angel. If anyone had a clue what to do, it would be him. But Dean had an awful feeling that at this point, there was nothing more he could do.

It was the end of the world, after all.

"Lucifer, _let me go_ ," Cas demanded, struggling futilely against the bonds still holding him to the wall. But the devil just shook his head.

"Don't look so sad, Cassie, Dean," Lucifer said, a pitying smile crossing his face. "You don't have to feel badly. You did your best, but in the end… this was meant to happen. It's been written since the beginning of time."

Dean's fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms and breaking the skin. "Get _out. Now_."

A dark look passed over Lucifer's face and his lip curled in a dangerous smile. "You aren't allowed to tell me what to do, kid." He snapped his fingers and Dean was thrown through the air again.

Dean closed his eyes, defeated. That was it. They had lost, and Lucifer had won. Their big holdout had been for nothing. "It wasn't supposed to be like this…" he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

Of course, Lucifer heard him anyway. "Oh, but it was supposed to be _exactly_ like this," Lucifer corrected him, and Dean could hear the smugness in his tone. "I planned this, you know. Or at least most of it."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean couldn't even bring himself to sound scared or angry anymore. His voice just sounded tired. Resigned. Then again, he was as good as a dead man walking now, along with the rest of the human race, so there wasn't any real point in arguing much.

The thundering in the background grew stronger, and a sudden, loud, crackling sound could be heard, which Dean assumed was a fairly large section of the Matrix they were stuck in fully collapsing in on itself.

"Do you really think all I wanted was for Jared to remember _just a little_?" Lucifer snorted derisively. "If that's what I'd needed, I would have made it easier for him to remember."

The same wind as before had returned, blowing past him and whistling in his ear. The building was starting to break down around them, the walls of the cell beginning to chip away into nothing - crumbling into small flakes only to disappear into an inky blackness. He could still hear a booming sound coming from somewhere else, and the noise was growing louder every second.

Dean took a brief second to stare as the dream visibly started to fall apart, wondering how long it would take for the process to be complete, before he began to actually process what Lucifer had just said.

"So... you never even wanted Sam to know... you wanted…" Dean's eyes went wide as he suddenly understood something. "You son of a _bitch!_ He - _Sam_ doesn't know, not even now. He doesn't even _know_ what you just made him do!" That was the last straw. Dean hadn't known how much Sam was going to remember once he woke up, but he hadn't really considered the fact that his brother wouldn't even know what was going on as it happened. And now… Sam wasn't going to wake up. Lucifer was.

The walls of the cell - plus the entire institution - were almost entirely gone, leaving only them and what seemed to be an endless floor. Dean glanced around, only to spot Ruby's corpse starting to fade away into nothing, soon to be followed by the body of the devil's previous angelic meatsuit.

Lucifer grinned with Sam's face. "You're catching on. I created _Jared_ to say yes _for_ Sam. Helpful little Jared didn't even really know the stakes. Oh, I'm sure Sammy was semi-conscious of what was going on at times, but not often. Certainly not now. So of course, I sent Jared on a little adventure with you. I let you get out from the state institute, hang around Jared… Eventually had to send Alastair to convince Jared to believe you, since you couldn't convince him yourself."

Dean was visibly shaking now, the rage returning to him. He knew it was useless, and he was only barely able to restrain himself from trying to attack the devil himself hand to hand once more. "This was all a setup. You fucking _played_ us. Even Crowley. You knew he was a turncoat the whole time!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the last piece of had been remaining of the wall to his right float away and disappear. Only the wall that Cas was pinned to was remaining, as well as the flat, cold surface of the floor. The ground seemed to go on forever, surrounded by black emptiness.

Lucifer gave a mocking bow. "What did you expect from the Prince of Lies? And of course I knew about _Crowley._ Pathetic. He's clever, yes, but not as clever as I am. Really, you would have done better if you'd just believed you were insane like Jared was trying to tell you you were before."

Dean had to fight back actual tears of rage that stung the backs of his eyes. "You can't... that's not _fair_!" he protested over the growing howl of the wind. "I thought even angelic douches had rules they had to play by."

"What can I say?" Lucifer shrugged. "I excel at finding loopholes."

Dean could see Cas tilt his head to the side just slightly at that, but he didn't pay much attention to it. Any loopholes Lucifer had found didn't matter now.

" _It wasn't supposed to be like this._ " Dean looked up, not even bothering to hide the slight wetness in his eyes. He was speaking now not to Lucifer, not even to Jared, but to his brother, to _Sam_ , who he knew was still in there, deep down. "Sammy...We were supposed to go out together. Side by side, guns blazing. Not... not like _this._ " Dean swallowed hard and looked away before his emotions could get the better of him. "Not with you not even knowing who you are."

Lucifer laughed, reaching out to tip Dean's chin up, though the hunter jerked it away. "Aww… How sweet. Are you going to cry now?"

The floor was starting to chip away now too. Small pieces of it, blocks and chunks of stone were being lifted up, like it was being dismantled by an invisible cosmic builder as easily as a child would dismantle a block castle. They would tear themselves out of the cobbled floor and rise up to hover a few feet in the air before disappearing into the dark like they were made of nothing more than smoke.

"...Lucifer." Cas's voice came from behind him and made him start. The angel had been silent for most of the proceedings, but now his eyes blazed with fire and his voice shook with a power that almost made Dean flinch.

Still, Lucifer only sighed as if Cas were a minor irritant, rolling his eyes as he turned to face the Seraph. "Yes, Castiel?"

"Do you remember," Cas began, "how you said you excel at finding loopholes?" His eyes started to glow a bright blue, and then Dean really did take a step back. What was Cas trying to do, get the two of them killed faster? They couldn't really go up against Lucifer and win. They wouldn't stand a chance. But Cas's voice was full of strength and confidence, and Dean did a double take.

"Well, I'd hope so, Cas; I just said it not too long ago. And?" Lucifer raised an eyebrow, not impressed. Clearly, he didn't see Cas's point, either.

"You missed _one_." Cas's eyes flashed, and blue Grace radiated outward from his body to fill the room.

"Cas, what-?" Dean started to ask, before he realized what the Grace was doing. It flooded Lucifer's body, forcing its way past the archangel's defenses like blue spears of light. Lucifer let out an almost animalistic scream - a scream that carried even over the roar of the wind and over the darkness of the void that now surrounded them, a sound Sam's body should not have been able to make. He fell to his knees, clutching his head in a futile attempt to block out the attacks.

"Sam!" Dean started to take a step forward but stopped himself, hovering anxiously with a hand over Sam's shoulder but not touching. He didn't know what was going on; he didn't know if his presence would help things or make them worse. "Cas, what's happening to him?"

"He's…" the power holding Cas to the remnants of the remaining wall finally failed as it crumbled away behind him, and the angel fell to his knees on what was left of the cell floor. "Sam is coming back, I believe!" He stood, struggling against the loud wind to the center of the room to stand beside Dean. "I gave him a boost of power, just enough to help him legitimately pose a threat to Lucifer - to allow him to hopefully take back control."

Dean's eyes went wide, and he was about to really interrogate Cas, make sure he fully understood what that meant, when-

" _Dean!"_ His brother screamed - _his brother screamed_. That could only have been Sam talking, only his Sammy would have screamed his name like that.

And instantly, Dean was kneeling by the side of the man who _was_ his little brother. Because it was, it was, it had to be.

His brother was back.

"Sammy?" he shook the man's shoulder, a bit roughly. "Sam, i-it's okay, I'm right here." He grabbed the man's other shoulder, turning him so they were face to face and Dean could hold him steady. "I-I gotcha. I'm here. I'm not going to leave you."

Tears of what could only be agony were streaming down Sam's face, and nothing Dean did could help of make him respond. This was a battle happening entirely in Sam's head, a battle Dean was powerless to do anything but watch. "G-Get… get out!" Sam shouted, clutching his head.

"It's working," Cas informed him. Dean shot the angel a death glare before turning back to his brother.

"That's it, Sam," he encouraged. "C'mon, you can do this man. Fight him, you're stronger than he is, you can do this."

" _GET OUT OF MY HEAD!_ "

And then Sam gave the loudest scream yet, a scream that had to have torn his throat from the way it shook the world around them. Dean fell back as a surge of power radiated outward from Sam's body, sending him flying a good six feet. He looked up, amazed and horrified to see Sam still screaming, screaming, _screaming_ out what seemed like a never-ending fountain of Grace that just kept coming and coming. The wind was ripping around them, tearing the energy from Sam's body, and for a few moments, Dean thought it would go on forever.

The Grace stopped. Sam's eyes were still closed, but they fluttered open weakly just long enough to focus on Dean's face. " _D-Dean_ …"

The wind screamed. The void collapsed around them. There was a flash of light- of heat-

And then nothing.

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 **AND THEN BOOM WAKEY-WAKEY SLEEPING BEAUTIES.**

 **Really, we could have drawn that out much more; kept Sam from coming back for much longer, but… We figured you all wouldn't be very happy with us. Please do review to show your appreciation.**

 **For anyone who is confused, don't worry, explanations are coming soon. Thanks!- Mimzy and Pixie**


	24. Hey, Brother

**Hey again! This story is most definitely winding to a close… Only one chapter and an epilogue left after this one!**

 _ **Warnings:**_ **Ah… Medical inaccuracies, most likely. Neither of us are doctors, as I'm sure you both can tell by this point. In our defense, though, the major medical crisis in this chapter is supernaturally induced, so there really isn't anything to know about it.**

 **We do not own Supernatural.**

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" **Hey, Brother" - Avicii**

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" _SAM!"_

Dean jerked upright with a scream, only aware of terror and pain and _he needed to find Sam_. He looked around, eyes wide and frantic, but didn't totally process where he was. The cell was gone, and so were Cas and Lucifer and Crowley, but most importantly- Sam.

"Dean!" A familiar voice came from behind him and Dean heard footsteps, before there was a warm hand on his shoulder and a bearded man wearing a baseball cap hovering over him. "You're awake. And about time, too, I'd think!"

"Bobby," Dean breathed, relieved to see a familiar face. He struggled to push himself up off the sagging couch and stumbled to his feet. "S-Sammy. Where's- Where's Sam-?" He tried to take a step, but his legs didn't seem to want to cooperate with the rest of his body and his knees buckled beneath him.

He reached out to grab the couch in a desperate attempt to stay upright as the floor tilted dangerously but found himself sagging against Bobby instead. "Woah, boy…" The grizzled old hunter slowly lowered him back to the couch with a grunt. "Just tell me what happened. You've both been out for days, kid. Been getting a whole lotta strange injuries, which I would _love_ to get an explanation for, by the way."

Dean shook the helping hands off. "Lucifer... put us in this dream world-" Dammit, there wasn't time to explain, and it wouldn't make sense anyway. His head was spinning and he wasn't entirely sure he could form coherent sentences at the moment. "Bobby, where the hell's my brother?!"

The older hunter sighed, clearly resigning himself to not getting any answers until Dean had been reunited with Sam. "He's in the other room. Don't know what's wrong with him, but I'm pretty sure he still hasn't woken up. It looks bad."

Dean would have laughed except it wasn't funny. "Yeah, try being possessed by a friggin Archangel, that's what's wrong with 'm." He tried to stand again, and this time managed to successfully find his feet leaning against the couch. "Where's Cas?" he asked, ignoring Bobby's exasperated eyeroll.

"Castiel?" Bobby frowned at him like he was confused why Dean would even ask. "No idea."

"Great," Dean muttered. It was just his luck. " _Great_. The one dude who has a clue what's going on…" He sighed and shook his head. "It's a really long story, Bobby, but let's just leave it at Lucifer's decided to stop playing nice."

"We can chat more later. You sure you're okay to walk, kid?" Bobby asked, looking Dean up and down with a frown, concern edging into his usually gruff voice.

"I'm _fine,_ Bobby…" Dean insisted. He shooed the older man off, pushing the offered hand away. "I can walk to the other room by myself." ...He was pretty sure he could. One step turned into two, then three, and he smirked proudly in victory.

Of course, his knees chose that moment to turn to jelly and he went down.

 _Ow_.

He went down _hard_.

Bobby snorted. "Fine, huh? Yeah, I can sure see that."

"... _Winchester_ fine," he amended.

The older man rolled his eyes, helping him stand once more. "Come on, bud. I'll help you get to Sam.".

Dean let out a grunt at the effort of getting back to his feet, nodding a tight thanks. He might be stubborn, but he wasn't stupid. Bobby was giving him an easy out, no ribbing him for his fall or anything, and he wasn't going to question it.

He knew what to expect. Crowley had told him that all injuries they received in that world transferred directly to their real bodies. Dean's injuries had basically all healed at Jared's house, but he could only imagine what that had been like for Bobby, especially when Alastair had had him… But that was beside the point, and he forced the memories out of his mind. He knew what to expect from Sam.

So it shouldn't have been such a kick to the gut to walk into the room and see…

Sam lay on Bobby's guest bed, on top of the blankets. From the bloodstained sheets, Dean assumed he'd originally been under them but that had changed once Sam started accumulating injuries. Still, the way he was stretched out over the sheets made him look even smaller, even more gaunt than he already was. His face was pale and sunken, dark bags hanging under his eyes. An ACE bandage was wound around his head, holding a gauze pad to the back of his skull, and his chest was bare except for the thick layer of white cloth bandages swaddling it. "Jesus…" Dean breathed. His brother, in short, looked like utter shit. And Jared had been running around pushing that broken body to its physical fighting limits for _days_.

Bobby gave him a sideways glance. "He was screaming like a friggin banshee right before you woke up. You gonna explain what's goin' on yet?"

Dean walked over - with Bobby's help - and sat on the edge of Sam's bed, looking down at him. "Like I said, Lucifer -"

He didn't have the opportunity to finish his sentence.

At that moment, Sam's eyes shot open, staring up at the ceiling. At first, as spark of hope rose in Dean's chest, he thought Sam had just woken up and everything was about to be alright again. But then his baby brother let out a horrible, choked sound and began to tremble, still gazing at seemingly nothing.

"Sammy?" Dean's eyes widened at that, worry settling in his gut. "Sam!" Quickly, he moved closer to the other man, pulling him into his lap and looking down at him, trying to figure out what was wrong and how to help.

His little brother didn't respond, still shaking violently in Dean's arms.

Bobby cursed loudly, quickly walking over. "He's having a seizure."

Like Dean hadn't noticed that. "What do we do about it then?" He looked up at Bobby, then back at his trembling sibling, struggling to keep the panic out of his voice. He didn't know anything about dealing with seizures, especially not ones induced by the devil.

The older man looked down at Dean's brother's quivering form. "Need to get him to a hospital."

Another choked noise came out of Sam's mouth, and Dean's attention immediately switched from Bobby to his little brother. "Sam," he swallowed, holding him a bit tighter than before. "Hey, hey, Sammy. It'll be alright, bud…" After a few moments, he looked back up at the older man, wearing a skeptical frown. "What's a hospital gonna do for this, Bobby? Huh? How are they supposed to make _this_ " -he gestured to Sam with one hand- "better?!"

"More than I can!" Bobby huffed, giving him a look before looking back down at Sam, putting a hand on his forehead. "They deal with people havin' seizures. They should be at least able to stabilize him, which I _doubt_ I can do. I ain't some miracle healer with all the answers, kid."

Part of him had to wonder how Bobby was keeping so calm. Dean was one step away from full-on panicking, having no other option but to hold Sam close and hope that the seizure would stop soon - seizures weren't supposed to last long, right? "He's spazzing cause he just got possessed by the goddamn _devil_ , Bobby! Somehow I don't think this is something they teach 'em to take care of in med school."

Bobby narrowed his eyes, frowning at him. "Yeah, and if he keeps spazzing, I don't even know what kinda permanent damage that could cause! You want your little brother to wind up with brain damage, kid?" Dean shook his head quickly, and before he could reply, Bobby continued. "You got any better ideas? Because right now… He ain't responding to much."

Dammit, Bobby was right. Sammy was just lying there, trembling and staring up at the ceiling.

"Alright. Alright, fine." Dean swore under his breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Hospital." It was really probably for the best, he decided. "He should probably have someone look at the concussion, too."

Bobby scowled, shooting him an irritated look, though Dean could see the concern behind it. "What sorta damage have you two idgits been doin' to yourselves that I haven't been noticing, huh? It's bad enough when one of you starts bleeding randomly. Mainly you!"

"Yeah, thank Alastair for that," Dean muttered, looking down at Sam with a worried expression. "But hey, it looks like you kept on top of it for us."

"Course I did. Been doing that for years. This time weren't no different." Bobby shook his head. "Come on. Don't got time for chatting. He needs help, kid."

Dean shot him a glare, frowning. "You think I don't know that?" Bobby might've heard him screaming, but he hadn't seen Sam there on his knees like Dean had. He wasn't the one who was currently holding Sam's shaking form, feeling him tremble underneath his hands. If anyone knew that Sam needed help, it was Dean.

Dean stood and then pulled Sam gently to the edge of the bed. He looped Sam's arm around his shoulders, hoisting his brother's limp form up with a grunt."You get his other side," he instructed Bobby on a stolen breath.

"Yeah, yeah…" Bobby muttered. He'd already moved to take Sam's other arm without being asked, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief as some of his brother's weight was lifted from his back. "Damn, you boys've gotten big."

"Friggin Sasquatch," Dean mumbled in agreement as they started to the door.

"Don't understand how the kid can be so heavy when all he eats is lettuce," Bobby muttered irritably under his breath.

Dean managed a grunt of response, but halfway across the room, the world had started spinning around him and carrying Sam had devolved into a battle simply to stay upright. "Bobby…" he managed. "C-Can't…"

"Okay, kid," Bobby sighed. "Looks like you need help too. Let go of Sam. I've got him. You sit down." He shifted Sam's weight in preparation to take all of it, but Dean shook his head and tightened his grip. He set his jaw as he stumbled determinedly towards the door.

"Stubborn as ever," Bobby muttered, rolling his eyes.

The younger hunter let out a tired grunt in agreement as he and Bobby carried Sam out the door and towards the car. "Some things never change, eh?"

"Get in the car," Bobby told him, already walking to the driver's side. "Most seizures don't last long, but this one isn't your average seizure."

"Yeah, no kidding," Dean mumbled, before climbing into the backseat with Sam and wrapping his arms around him once more as an attempt to control the worst of the spasms. He looked down at his little brother, brushing the sweaty hair out of his eyes gently. He swallowed, holding him tighter and looking up as Bobby started the car. "God, you remember what happened to Raphael's vessel... he was never the same again. What if…?"

"Worry about that later," Bobby instructed him, sounding concerned himself.

Dean considered replying, but then Sam let out a soft, pained noise and his attention was immediately back on his little brother. He held him in his arms, rubbing circles gently into his back and hoping that the shaking would just stop already. "Hey, it's alright," he soothed quietly, swallowing. "You're okay, Sammy. I got you. I'm right here."

However, Sam didn't respond, much less acknowledge his presence.

"Dammit," Dean muttered quietly. There was no way in Hell that seizures were supposed to last this long. "Bobby, we almost there?"

Bobby stepped on the gas. "Ten minutes."

"Hear that, Sammy?" Dean said in a shaking voice. "Ten minutes. You can hold on ten minutes, huh?" Sam was completely unresponsive, and Dean clenched his jaw tighter. Now a hot wetness had started to sting at his eyes. "C'mon, Sam... we didn't go through all that, have you remember, just so you could check out now.." He looked up at Bobby in the rearview mirror. "Faster, Bobby!"

"Don't use that tone with me, kid!" Bobby snapped, but Dean knew he was more worried than anything else. "I know you're scared, but it ain't like it's my fault."

"I know, I know, but…" Dean swallowed, trying to control the panic rising in his chest. "Hurry."

"Like I don't know that. How old do you think I am?" Bobby glanced back at him, before focusing on the road once more. "Ain't senile yet, boy."

Dean didn't rise to the joke, focused solely on his kid brother. He did his best to calm him, but nothing helped. He was forced to just sit there, holding Sam and muttering empty assurances as time passed.

However, finally, they made it to the hospital.

Bobby parked quickly and was at Dean's door in a split second. "Here, take 'm…" Dean grunted under his brother's weight as he handed him off to Bobby for the moment. Even the older man grimaced as he tried to support Sam, but Dean wasn't paying attention.

"Hey!" he shouted as they started their staggering path to the ER doors. "Somebody help us!" He tried to help Bobby support Sam's weight, but he kept stumbling and soon Bobby was doing most if not all of the work. After what seemed like ages, someone must have noticed them. A nurse came running out, her eyes wide. "My brother," he managed. "Please, i-it's my brother, he's having a seizure or something, b-but it just won't stop-"

"Alright, set him down on the stretcher, please," the nurse said, pulling gently at Dean's arm as she tried to loosen his grip on his little brother. "We'll take good care of him, don't worry. We'll figure out what's going on."

Dean nodded as he helped her lift Sam onto the stretcher. "I'm coming with him," he said firmly.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that, sir," the nurse told him calmly but firmly. "He needs to be stabilized properly, and it would be best for you two to wait in the lobby."

People in scrubs started to wheel the gurney into the hospital and Dean had to struggle to keep up. "He's my _brother_ ," he said again. "I'm coming."

The nurse stood in front of Dean and Bobby, blocking their way as Sam was pushed through a set of double doors. "I'm afraid I can't allow you to do that. It's our policy. We'll let you see him again as soon as possible, alright?"

At the livid look on Dean's face, Bobby let out a long sigh. "There's no way you'll let him stay with the kid?"

"No. I'm sorry," the nurse replied, her tone brooking no room for argument. Bobby turned to Dean, his face apologetic.

"Wait- _Bobby_!" Dean stared, betrayed. "You don't - you're gonna just go along with this?!"

"Kid, I don't think there's much else we _can_ do," Bobby pointed out, raising his hands placatingly. "He'll be fine, you know it. There are good people lookin' out for him here."

"But-" Dean started, about to protest.

Bobby put a strong hand on Dean's shoulder, as if physically holding him back. "No buts, kid. I know you're worried. But they'll take care of him."

The nurse nodded in agreement. "We promise that we'll do our very best to get things right again. Does he often have seizures like this?"

Dean glanced over at Bobby. They hadn't really rehearsed their explanation for Sam's condition besides the lie that they simply didn't have one. "No, it's…" He coughed awkwardly. "We don't know what's going on." Well, it was sort of the truth.

She nodded, accepting the answer easily, like she'd been expecting it. "Come on. You two can sit in the lobby, if you'd like. There's some paperwork we need you to fill out."

The two hunters followed, Dean taking the proffered clipboard. Clearly upset, he glanced briefly over the paperwork before shoving it at Bobby. "I can't deal with this crap right now," he muttered under his breath, sinking into one of the hard-backed hospital chairs and resting his head in his hands.

Bobby was a bit calmer as he took a pen from the front desk. "Just… at least try to relax, Dean. You're brother's a fighter. He'll get through this."

"We don't even know what _this_ is!" Dean snapped, looking up at Bobby with a glare that only belied his fear. "Who knows what happens to people who've…"

"No, we don't," Bobby admitted. "But Sam wouldn't want you to panic. You know that. And you're still pretty banged up yourself, bud. Calm down and take a breather."

Dean perched anxiously on the edge of the chair, his knee bouncing up and down with anxiety. "You didn't see what happened to Raphael's vessel, Bobby. Being a vessel for an archangel does a number on you. Dude was all kinds of crazy after." God, the thought that _Sam_ might end up like that...

"Crazy?" Bobby asked, sitting in the chair across from Dean with a frown. "Such as?"

"Such as _locked ward, incoherent drooling mess,_ " Dean elaborated so Bobby would understand how serious the situation was.

Bobby seemed to be deep in thought for a long moment. "Well," he finally said, "your brother was never one to drool too much, so let's hope that helps." Dean scowled to show the older hunter exactly what he thought of the 'joke.'

"Just tryin' to lighten the mood," Bobby said on a sigh as he set to work filling out the hospital paperwork with false information.

After what felt like hours, Dean couldn't take sitting and waiting any longer. He stood from the hard plastic hospital chair and started to pace restlessly. "What the hell's taking so long?" he snapped at no one in particular.

Bobby didn't look up. "You saw the condition your brother was in, kid. Hate to be the one to break it to you, but the docs are most likely struggling how to fix something when they don't understand what caused it." Dean turned to snap at him, and he hastened to add, "But they'll fix him; they just need time."

Dean wheeled around, resuming his pacing. "Y'know, now would be a real good time to explain to me what's going on," Bobby commented as if offhandedly. "You said Lucifer locked you in some sort of dream world? Like a djinn or somethin'?"

"Like a djinn…" Dean paused. "Sort of. In the sense that we were out cold here while stuff was happening there, yeah. But more real than a djinn." He raised his arm to show Bobby one of the still healing gashes from his time with Alastair. "You ever seen a djinn do anything like that?"

"Gotta point," Bobby mused. "Normally stimulus from a djinn dream don't carry over into the real world, you're just hangin' there, wastin' away. So what the hell happened in there?"

Dean tired of pacing, sitting down again as he noticed himself starting to sway lightly. "We didn't remember who we were, thought we were two dudes called Jensen and Jared. Cas was there, and so was this demon called Crowley - we actually had to work with him to get out." It was a pretty awful summary, but he was tired and in pain and worried and he really wasn't in the mood to give a better one.

Bobby shot him a glance, looking both a little surprised and irritated at his lack of common sense. "You worked with a _demon_?"

"Not the point." Dean shook his head, mildly annoyed. Yeah, Bobby didn't know what had happened, he knew it was stupid to expect him to, but he was just done.

The old hunter huffed in a way that meant he had a lot more to say, but shook his head and moved on. "How'd you get out, if you didn't remember who you were?"

That was a damn good question. Dean took a moment of pause, trying to sort through the events of the last hour or so. "I... I don't know _how_ we got out, actually. Sam didn't remember who he was all the way up to the end, but I was lucid about halfway through. He said yes to Lucifer, but... but he managed to fight him out, somehow. Then there was a flash of white, and…" The explanation didn't even make sense to him. He scrubbed a hand over his face. "We need to find Cas. He was the one who really saved us, and he's the only one who would really know what happened."

Bobby sighed. "So at first you both forgot, then you remembered, and that idiot brother of yours thought that saying yes to Lucifer was a good idea?" Apparently, Bobby was better at summarizing things quickly than Dean was.

"You think I didn't try to stop him?" Dean scowled. "It's kinda hard when you're pinned against a friggin wall with a knife to your neck and Sam decides to go all 'self-sacrifice."

"So Lucifer threatened to kill you to get him to give the big thumbs-up, that what you're saying?" Bobby sighed, rubbing a hand over his worn face. "Yeah, that sounds like your brother, alright."

Dean sighed, nodding in agreement. "And it worked. Sam said yes, and Lucifer was just about to finish me and Cas off once and for all, when…" He paused, not I dunno.

"You dunno?" The older man shot him an annoyed look. "Kid, that better not have been because you were too busy freaking out about Sam to pay attention."

Dean glared. "No, I _dunno_ because he just started screaming 'get outta my head' and then there was a freaky flash of angel light, and then I was waking up at your place. You try to make sense of that." Bobby raised his hands in surrender and Dean sighed. "It _seemed_ like he just... fought the sonofabitch out, but... I mean... _how?_ Lucifer's a friggin' Archangel, and Jimmy says it's damn near impossible to push out even a regular one."

"Your brother's stubborn," Bobby offered lamely. "I'm sure that helps."

Dean snorted at the suggestion. "I'm pretty sure _Lucifer's_ stubborn, too."

Bobby closed his eyes, clearly exhausted. "We'll figure it out later. What matters is that you're both out."

" _I'm_ out," Dean corrected quietly. The words fell on an uncomfortable silence until Bobby cleared his throat.

"He'll be fine, Dean," the older hunter assured. "I'm just as worried as you are, but this is Sam we're talkin' about here. He always is."

"And if he's not?" Dean challenged.

"I… don't know, kid." Bobby's voice was soft at the admission, refusing to meet Dean's eyes.

Dean swallowed hard. All of his own emotions aside, if Sam didn't wake up, there would be hell. "If he doesn't wake up from this, he's easy pickings for Lucifer. You know that."

Bobby sighed, glaring down at the clipboard in his hands. "Yeah, I get the picture."

"And you also get that…" Dean paused. "You get that if he _doesn't_ wake up that _that's_ not an option."

Bobby started to reply, but a nurse walked over to them. Immediately, Dean sat up a little straighter, looking at her.

"You can see your brother now," the nurse stated, and Dean had never felt so relieved. Being able to see him meant that he was okay, right? The nurse continued, "He's asleep, but stable. We think he's going to be just fine. He doesn't seem to show any signs of permanent damage to the brain, so we're all very happy about that."

"And nothing... unusual?" Dean probed. "In the brain?"

The nurse frowned and checked her clipboard. "Not that we can find, no. Is there a reason there would be?"

Dean glanced sideways at Bobby, ignoring the question. "...You think he's... him?"

"Only one way to find out," Bobby grunted, standing and handing the completed paperwork to the nurse. "Come on. 'M tired of signing my name repeatedly."

"Alright." Dean said, expertly sliding a calm mask over his fear. "Let's go."

"This way, please," the nurse said, leading them down the hall to a standard hospital room. Sterile white walls glared down at them as they entered, making the whole place feel hostile and unwelcoming.

Dean visibly flinched at the sight of his little brother lying still in a hospital bed, hooked up to dozens of wires and tubes and monitors. " _Sammy_ …" he breathed. Somehow it all looked worse dressed up in hospital greens and whites.

"I'll leave you all alone then," the nurse said with a small reassuring smile.

Dean barely noticed as she left the room.

In moments, he had sat himself next to the bed in a way that clearly showed he didn't plan on leaving anytime soon. He hunched over the bed, propped up on his elbows, staring at Sam like his brother was the only thing in the world.

"He looks better," Bobby commented hopefully as he pulled up a chair. "That's good."

Dean barely seemed to register the response. He muttered something about jinxing it before he slowly reached out and took Sam's limp hand in his."C'mon, kiddo," he murmured. "Wake up so we can have one of those chick flick moments you love so much." He laughed shortly at his own joke even though it wasn't funny, fighting back the heat that seemed to be building behind his eyes.

Bobby put a gentle hand on Dean's good shoulder. "He's _gonna_ be fine, kid."

"I almost lost him, Bobby," Dean said dully in reply, looking up with eyes that were maybe just a bit watery. "Hell, I _did_ lose him."

"And you're gonna get him back, right as soon as he wakes up," Bobby said firmly. "You know he's a heavy sleeper."

The younger man snorted out a laugh, then let out a shaky breath. "Lazy bitch."

Bobby leaned back in his seat, nodding. "Yeah, Sam just needs his beauty sleep, as always."

Dean managed to tear his eyes away from his sleeping brother for long enough to throw a small smile Bobby's way in return. "We should shave his head."

"Certainly be a bit of a shock when he woke up," Bobby chuckled at the idea.

Another smile pulled at Dean's lips as he fondly brushed his brother's floppy bangs out of his face. "Nah," he decided. "Don't feel like getting into another prank war just yet."

Just yet. Sam would be around to be pissed at Dean cutting his hair, he would be around to have more childish prank wars with, and he would be around to stand by Dean's side and face down the evils of the world and the things that went bump in the night and the shadows under people's beds that they didn't want to admit were real. Sam would be around to be Dean's baby brother.

He had to be.

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 **Well, they're out of the dream world, but not out of the woods. Thank you to all of you who've been reading and reviewing, your support is awesome. We'd really love to hear from more of you, find out what you think. There are only a few more chances to leave us comments and we suggest you make the most of them!**

 **-Mimzy and Pixie**


	25. Safe and Sound

**Hey! We're so, so sorry that this chapter is so overdue! Things became very busy and chaotic for both of us, as there were a lot of college assignments that needed doing this month, plus Thanksgiving and all. We have about a dozen other very good excuses if you want them - though why you would, I'm not sure.**

 **There are no warnings for this chapter.**

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ **We don't own** _ **Supernatural.**_

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" **Safe and Sound" - Taylor Swift ft. The Civil Wars**

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He was sure he imagined it when Sam's hand twitched slightly on the hospital blanket. The movement was so small it could have just been a trick of the light or an oddly-timed blink.

But then it happened again.

His eyes widened, and he would have smiled if he still wasn't so worried. "Sam? You with me, dude?"

Bobby leaned forward in his seat on the other side of the bed, almost comically mirroring Dean. "Kid?"

The young hunter let out a low moan, turning his head to the side to try to escape the harsh glare of the fluorescent hospital lights. "D'nn…?" His eyes slowly started to open, then slammed shut again at the light.

"I got it," Bobby muttered, crossing the room and flipping the switch. The room was still reasonably lit from the broad window taking up almost a whole wall of the small room, but it was dim enough that Sam could open his eyes and take in the world around him.

"Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty," Dean teased, giving his brother's hand a gentle squeeze. He glanced over at Bobby, a mischievous light glinting in his eyes. "See? We wouldn't have had time to get done shaving 'm anyway."

It took a moment for Sam's mind to catch up with the most recent events, but it was obvious when it did. The long, relaxed lines of his body went taut with stress, and he tried to jerk upright. "D-Dean-?!"

"Whoa, easy, kid," Bobby chided, reaching out to grab Sam's shoulder and ease him back down to the bed. But Dean got there first, and Bobby pulled his hand away, taking the baseball cap from his head and twisting it- a habit he'd picked up over the years. "Slow down before you hurt yourself."

"Yeah, dude. 'S me," Dean confirmed with a small smile. "How you doing?"

Sam swallowed hard as he looked around the room, not answering the question. "Where am I?"

"Hospital," Dean answered, knowing full well that wasn't what Sam had meant. He chuckled lightly at his brother's bitchface. "In the real world."

The slightest relaxation. "...Everything's okay?" Sam asked, as if he were expecting it not to be true. And really, Dean couldn't blame him.

The older brother raised an eyebrow. "Well, ' _everything_ ' is a strong word. What the hell happened back there, dude?" _You tell me, Sammy._ Is _everything okay?_

"I… I don't… I don't know," Sam admitted quietly. "I-I'm sorry, I don't…"

Dean scrubbed a weary hand over his face. "Do you remember anything?"

He got a tired nod in response. "Not all of it, no, but… I generally knew what was going on. To a point." Dean didn't have to ask the follow-up question, Sam already knew. " _He's_ out, if that's what you mean."

It was a good thing he'd been so vague. At just that moment, a nurse knocked on the door, smiling at the small family. "I'm sorry, sir," she said, now looking at Bobby, "but one of the forms you filled out looks like it's got a few gaps. Do you mind coming down to the desk and fixing it?"

Bobby gave a beleaguered sigh, standing and slapping his worn cap back on his head. " _Balls_ … It's always with the forms, isn't it? No matter how much paperwork you make a guy do, there's always something wrong." He rumbled irritably as he cracked his back. "Fine, I'm coming." A calloused hand clapped Sam gently on the shoulder. "Good to hear your voice, boy."

Sam offered a wane smile in return as the nurse led Bobby from the room, then closed his eyes again, sinking back into his pillows.

Once Dean was sure the pair had passed earshot, he resumed his line of questioning. "But you got any idea _how_?"

The younger brother wearily forced his eyes open again, giving a slight shake of his head and wincing at the motion. "I just woke up, suddenly, and…" He grimaced as he tried to come up with the memory but kept falling short. "I'm sorry, honest."

At that, Dean wasn't sure if he should laugh or cry. "Sam?" He shook his head, closed his eyes, and then opened them as he pulled his brother into a tight embrace. "Shut up." He felt Sam nod into his shoulder and just pulled him closer, afraid if he let go his brother would vanish like smoke between his fingers. "That was the dumbest move you've _ever_ pulled, you do know that, right?" he asked into his brother's long hair, not even caring that this could possibly go down in history as one of the biggest Winchester chick-flick moments ever recorded.

Sam snorted a soft laugh. "Not as dumb as selling your soul to bring me back to life."

"Dumber," Dean stated firmly.

"...Maybe."

Dean finally sighed, letting Sam go and holding him at arm's length as he lowered him back to the bed. "How're you feeling? You need any more painkillers? Water?"

Sam gave him a small, obviously forced smile. "Water would be nice. Thanks."

Water. That was something concrete he could get for his brother, some way to _help._ "Yeah, yeah, no problem," Dean said, grateful to have something real to do. He stood and made his way to the bubbler, quickly returning with a paper cone of cool water. "Here, drink slow, see if your stomach can take it first," he advised, helping Sam raise the cup to his lips with a trembling hand.

When it was clear that Sam was going to be able to keep the water down, Dean let him finish the cup, putting it to the side when he was done. He hated to continue to question his obviously wiped brother, but...

"So you don't remember anything from the Matrix?" Damn, he really was an awful big brother. But Sam seemed to understand the necessity of the questions, because though he sighed, he forced his eyes to stay open, forced coherent sentences out. A swell of pride formed in Dean's chest, but- again, not the time.

"I, um, I remember," Sam started slowly. "Not all of it, but… Whenever 'Jared' was having a headache, or directly after he woke up, I was awake. Sort of. It was like watching some stupid, twisted movie, just in first person."

Dean nodded his understanding. "So like possession. You were inside... just... watching. Not in control."

"Yeah, for some of it," Sam confirmed. "There are still these big blank spaces I can't really remember anything."

"You, ah... you remember Scott?"

As soon as he'd asked, he wished he hadn't. A dark look swept across Sam's face, although his brother tried to play it off casually. "Yeah, bit hard not to, considering." Dean wondered if Sam also remembered that Ruby had gone by 'Jess' in Lucifer's dream world, but he knew better than to bring that up.

"He was a good kid," Dean said quietly, looking away. _I'm sorry,_ was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't quite make himself say it.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, a bitter note to his voice. "Always wanted to know what it was like to have a normal life. Guess I… guess I know now." He scowled. "Or at least _Jared_ does."

Dean frowned at the hostility in his voice. Jared may not have been real, but… "Y'know, Jared was actually a pretty cool guy. I mean, despite the whole "locking me up in a mental hospital" thing."

"He was an _idiot_ ," Sam countered. "He almost got us all killed."

"He was a civilian forced into a nightmare," Dean corrected gently. "He was doing his best." When he saw that Sam still wasn't on board, Dean decided to make the conversation a little lighter. "And besides, _he_ appreciated my music." He managed a goofy grin, despite the guilt that was rising in his chest at the subject. He'd ruined the man's life - even if some would say that Jared never had actually one.

"As I said," Sam grinned back, clearly relieved at the mood change. "Idiot."

In response, Dean -gently- threw a spare pillow at his head.

Sam tossed it back at him, rolling his eyes but still smiling. "That's immature."

"My music rocks!"

"Uh-huh."

Dean made a face at a memory. "He liked _your_ gross health food."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Nothing wrong with my 'gross' health food. And it's not like I'm going vegan or anything, I just don't eat triple bacon cheeseburgers three times a day."

"You eat _salad_. Rabbit food. You know what he tried to make me eat on _waffles_?" Dean waited for Sam to shrug before continuing. "Strawberries. Friggin " _strawberries._ "

"Those are good on waffles," Sam told him with a laugh.

"Dude!" Dean exclaimed, pretending to reel back in horror.

"They are!"

"Least I got some decent syrup into Scott before we broke the hallucination world," Dean said in satisfaction. "Jared'd probably been forcing that crap at the poor kid for nine _years."_

Sam rolled his eyes. "And it would have been good for him too. It's called being a parent, Dean. You can't just feed a kid shit every day."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, good for him like a broken arm. I'm the best thing that ever happened to that ki-" he stopped short as he remembered what, exactly, his presence had done for Scott in the long run. "Well. Maybe not."

"He wasn't real," Sam said quietly after a short pause. "So it's not like it matters."

They both knew that was a lie.

Dean swallowed hard. "It was my fault, Sam," he whispered, finally saying what he'd been thinking for weeks. "I brought Alastair there. To Scott. To _you_. Scott... He was a copy of _you,_ Sam. The kid you _shoulda_ been if our lives hadn't gone to hell. And that's twice now I've lost that life for you." He closed his eyes, unable to meet Sam's.

His brother sighed. "Dean… You couldn't do anything to stop this. It was never real, just a trick. Like a djinn dream. You didn't lose anything, because there was nothing there to lose to begin with."

"Yeah, whatever, Sam," Dean sighed, shaking his head and standing to pace back and forth across the small room. "You don't get it. I _saw_ you. I _talked_ to you. I…" His voice broke. "You were happy."

Sam struggled to sit again. "Look at me, Dean." It took a moment, but at the tone in his voice, Dean slowly turned.

"What?" he sighed, pushing a hand through his short hair.

"You couldn't stop me from going down the road I did," Sam told him, quietly, calmly. "You couldn't have gotten me that perfect childhood. But you damn sure did the very best you could to make sure I got as close to it as possible." He gave a sad half-smile. "You know, you deserved that, too. A 'real life.' You still do, but… I guess things don't always work out the way we want them to." He shrugged a little as he met Dean's eyes. "There's no good blaming yourself for it when it was out of your control."

Dean sat down heavily. "Yeah. I know. I just... seeing Jared, the life he had… I remembered what I could never give you."

"But you've already given me way more than anyone else ever has, Dean," Sam protested. "You took care of me all those years we were growing up. You sacrificed any semblance of your own childhood to give me the most normal one you possibly could. And I know I don't thank you for it nearly enough, but.. you were always there for me." He smiled sadly. "You still are."

The chick flick moment had Dean swallowing a hard lump in his throat. "Yeah, well," he managed gruffly, deflecting the emotional scope of the moment. "Maybe you're right. I mean, I did change your diapers." He flashed a cheeky grin which only widened at Sam's groan.

"Jokes aside, though," he said, shaking his head, "we gotta figure out what all this means. I mean, we knew Lucifer was already out there screwing shit up for us, but now we gotta worry about _Crowley,_ too?" He scoffed. "This is so above my pay grade, dude."

"You say that like we actually get paid," Sam said with a snort.

"And where're all the hot grateful chicks you're supposed to get for saving the world?" Dean complained jokingly. It was a conversation they'd had many times in the past, and its familiarity was a soothing balm on the strain of the past few weeks, and when Sam chuckled lightly it made a burst of warmth erupt in Dean's chest.

"Good to have you back, Sammy," he said softly. Sam tried to return the smile he offered, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Everything alright?"

Sam sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "Well, at least we know it'll work…"

Dean was lost. "What are you talking about?" he asked with a frown. "We know what'll work?"

"I took control in the dream, remember?" Sam looked Dean dead in the eye, face hard with determination. "I can take control again. Meaning my plan could work. Dean, we have a chance to get Lucifer back in the Cage."

No. " _No_ , Sam," Dean practically growled. "We agreed that wasn't in the cards. It's not a damn debate."

"But it'll _work_ ," Sam insisted, his stupid defiance shining in his eyes. "And I'm the one who broke the final seal. This's a sacrifice I'm willing to make, and I'm the only one who can-"

Dean silenced his brother's stupidly logical arguments with a death glare. "Now hold up. We still don't know if it'd even work. Just cause it did in the dream doesn't mean it will in real life. And you won't have Cas helping this time, either. I ain't throwing away my brother's life on some stupid suicide run that might not even get the job finished."

"Dean… I _have_ to," Sam said after a moment, looking away. "I-I'm the only reason Lucifer's out in the first place. I let Ruby…" He cleared his throat when he couldn't finish the sentence, the pain and guilt too fresh. "This is my mess. I'm going to clean it up."

"Well, in case you forgot, I'm the one that started all this," Dean countered. "In Hell, with the first seal. So if we're playing the blame game, pass the whiskey, cause there's plenty of guilt to go around."

"Yeah, you started it." Sam laughed darkly. "And I finished it, remember? You said it yourself."

"What're you talk-"

Dean stopped short as the memory hit him. In the dark of night, with Jared in control… He'd just been so friggin _frustrated_ , so _angry_ … "Sam…" he said quietly, knowing he couldn't take it back. "I didn't mean…"

Sam scoffed. "Yeah, you did. You only felt like you could say what you really thought because I wasn't there to hear it." But before Dean could protest, the accusing tone dropped from his voice, replaced by one so defeated it was somehow even worse. "And you were right. About all of it." Sam swallowed, but his voice was firm. "This is my fault, Dean. Don't try to tell me that it isn't because you feel bad for telling the truth. I messed up, and this is all on me. So it's on me to fix it."

 _Fuck._ Out of all the things from the dream world Sam could've chosen to remember, out of the happiness and laughter and stupid cliche Lifetime Family Moments, he chose _that_? The most biting, angry words Dean had said to him in… he didn't know how long. But Dean had said them, and there was no apologizing or taking them back. He just had to move forward.

"Yeah, well, this isn't the way, Sam." He stared at his brother, unwilling to break eye contact, needing Sam to see that he was telling the truth. "It _isn't_ , I swear to God."

Sam was finally the one who looked away first. He didn't answer.

"And what if it does work, huh?" Dean pressed, leaning forward in his seat. "What then? I'm supposed to just let you…" He shook his head, unwilling to even say it. "No. We are _not_ doing this, Sam, that's _final_." He tried to convey authority with his voice, using the tone Dad had once used to have him and Sam snapping to attention. But he was reaching for a power over his brother that he no longer held, and they both knew it.

"Dean…" Sam struggled for words. "I'm not more important than all the other people on this planet. We can't let this go down. And this way, I'm the only one who suffers."

He was the only one- "What about me, huh?" Dean stood and wheeled around to glare at the wall, his eyes wet but still sharp with anger, running a hand through his hair. He turned around again to look at his baby brother. "I don't get hurt by this? You might think it's all about you, Sam, but news flash- it's _not_."

"You know what you'd do?" Sam asked, meeting Dean's challenging glare with one of his own. "You'd _move on_. Like a normal person who loses their brother. Like you would have last time if you'd actually _tried_ , instead of just selling your soul and digging us deeper into this frig-"

"Shut up, Sam!" Dean snapped. "Don't you dare think I won't-"

The flutter of wings interrupted him, and at that moment Castiel appeared, as always giving the disconcerting impression that he'd been there listening for a while. "Hello, Dean. Sam." He inclined his head slightly in greeting.

"Cas!" Sam seized on the distraction. "Are you alright? What the hell happened?"

The angel didn't answer his question, instead squinting at him like he was trying to look straight into Sam's mind. "You're injured." He glanced over at Dean. "Lucifer has left him."

Sam nodded, at this point too tired to care about Castiel's typical lack of human etiquette. "Yeah, he's… ah, gone." He smiled a little. "All me."

Castiel gave a weary nod, clearly relieved. He relaxed ever so slightly, but even that was an improvement. "I thought it would work. I... well, I'd hoped."

"So are we ever gonna get some sort of explanation, or…" Dean trailed off, raising an eyebrow at Castiel. "Cause that'd be real nice, not gonna lie."

There was a moment's pause where Castiel sized up the two young hunters, and then he nodded again, sinking into the chair Bobby had left open. "Jared said yes to Lucifer, and Sam pushed him out." Both brothers waited for more, but Castiel seemed content to stop there, as if that should have been all the information they needed to fully understand.

Sam glanced over at Dean, and sighed on seeing his brother was as lost as he was. "What do you mean by that exactly?"

Cas blinked in confusion. " _Jared_ said yes to Lucifer," he explained very slowly. Then he looked to Sam again. "And then _you_ pushed him out." He shrugged. "You weren't... _precisely._.. Sam Winchester when you consented to be Lucifer's Vessel. It was good enough to allow him in, but not enough to keep him there when _you_ finally surfaced and tried to push him out."

"So a cosmic loophole?" Dean asked to clarify. "You tricked him?"

Cas seemed to consider, then nodded, almost smiling. "Yes, I suppose you could say that."

Dean's face split into a wide grin. "You're freaking _awesome,_ Cas." Beside him, Sam was grinning too.

"I didn't do anything," Cas said with a look at Sam. "He did all the work. I merely helped by lending my Grace."

"Still." Sam smiled at the ground and then looked back up. "Thanks, Cas. That almost ended really badly. You did real good."

The smile slid from Castiel's face, replaced by his usual solemn mask. "Lucifer has been growing bolder," he said grimly. "The end is coming faster now."

"Well, aren't you just a ray of sunshine?" Dean muttered as reality came crashing back. He knew Castiel was right, but he had been enjoying a rare few moments of actual happiness, and to have them interrupted stung.

Castiel looked at him strangely, blinking and tilting his head to the side. "No. I am an Angel of the Lord."

Sam laughed quietly at his familiar confusion. "It's an expression, Cas."

"I still do not understand," Castiel said seriously, though he nodded and accepted the answer. "But we have bigger concerns. Where is Crowley?"

"The demon dude? Wants to take over Hell?" Dean paused uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. "We, ah, don't know?" Not that he wasn't planning on finding the son of a bitch and ganking him as soon as possible. Crowley'd put him through way too much in the dream world, no matter how helpful he claimed to be.

The angel let out an irritated sigh, turning to stare out the window with a frown. "I understand that your alliance with the demon was a necessary evil, Dean. But he is not to be underestimated."

Sam glanced at Dean, taking in his guilty but defensive expression, and immediately stepped in to play the mediator. "Look, we can hunt him down later, alright? Yeah, he's bad. But right now? We can only take on one big bad at a time, and between Crowley and Lucifer, I know who's keeping me up at night."

"As I said, do not underestimate him," Castiel warned, his expression grim. "He is far more powerful than a typical demon, and growing stronger even now." He paused. "However, I don't think he will try to make a move until Lucifer has been resealed in the Cage. He is manipulative and powerful, yes, but also a coward. He will not attempt to overthrow a regime, simply take power after one falls."

Sam turned to look at Cas. "Well, what would you suggest we do about it?"

"We will deal with the new threat as it comes," Castiel said decisively, although he was clearly not satisfied. "For now, the both of you are safe?"

Sam gave the angel a smile, but Dean could tell that it was forced. "Yeah." In reality, Dean had a feeling that they'd both need a little time to get over everything that had happened. More than a little time, and way more than a little booze.

The angel sighed. "I suppose that is the most we can ask for."

"We'll…" Sam looked up at Dean, biting his lip. "We'll worry about how to stop Lucifer later, alright?"

Castiel always seemed to know more of what was going on than anyone was willing to say directly. He gave a sad smile and nodded, clapping a supportive hand on Sam's shoulder. "We will, Sam. He looked up at Dean, warm reassurance in his eyes. "But for now, _rest_." As he spoke, he sent a surge of healing Grace to both brothers, getting two relieved sighs. "You have more than earned it."

Bobby walked back into the room, muttering under his breath quietly about paperwork. Dean couldn't help but chuckle quietly at his expression.

Castiel looked up as the older man entered the room. "Hello, Bobby."

"Castiel?" Bobby glanced at him, blinking once. "Since when did you get here? Not that I'm complainin', mind you."

"Well lookat this," Dean drawled, grinning. "It's a right old party."

"Looks like it." Bobby chuckled as he crossed the room to ruffle Sam's long hair. "You're just lucky you woke up when you did, kid. That brother of yours was plotting to shave your head."

Sam shot Dean a glare. "Hey! Thought we agreed that hospitals were a no-prank zone!" The older hunter just laughed apologetically, shrugging.

"'S not fair when one of us's unconscious." Sam muttered, touching his hair as if to reassure himself it was still there. "Still." He smiled genuinely. "Really missed you, dude."

" _You're_ telling _me_ ," Dean agreed, shaking his head at the memories of all the weeks he'd spent wishing for his brother by his side.

Castiel looked at Bobby for a few moments, and the old hunter nodded knowingly. Dean frowned a little at the silent exchange between his father figure and Cas. "What are the two of you-?"

Cas reached over, putting one hand on Dean's shoulder and the other on Sam's. Warmth started to spread through his body, starting at his core and spreading out to his limbs. Everything was getting heavy… limp.. relaxed… It didn't take long for Dean to realize what had happened, and he did his best to shoot a glare at the angel before his eyes closed against his will. "Hate you, C'ss..".

"I know," Cas replied, and Dean could hear the smile in his tone. Right now, he was too tired to care, and he let himself drift off into sleep.

* * *

"They'll be angry when they wake up," Castiel said in mild amusement as he tried to readjust Dean into a more comfortable sleeping position, finally giving up and actually lifting the hunter fully to settle him in bed next to Sam. It was a tight fit, but the two seemed to curl closer together, if anything.

Bobby chuckled at the sight. "Ah, it'll do 'em both some good. They need rest, and if you didn't do anything about it, they'd spend the rest of the night havin' a damn chick-flick moment to last eternity. This way the idjits actually get some sleep." He shook his head fondly. "Wish I had a camera."

Castiel smiled at the brothers. He had never meant to get so attached, but now that he was, he couldn't imagine letting either one go. "Do you think they can do it?" he asked, looking at Bobby.

"Definitely," Bobby answered, looking over at him. "I've known these boys their whole lives. If anyone can do it, if it's even possible to stop this thing, the Winchesters'll find a way."

"But at what cost?" The question hung heavy in the air between them as they looked down at the sleeping men- children, really, in the grand scheme of God's Plan. Bobby didn't give an answer. Castiel hadn't expected one.

* * *

 **Again, we apologize for the lateness of this chapter! There's only the epilogue left now, which we promise will be on time. Thanks for reading! - Mimzy and Pixie**


	26. Feeling Good

****Hey! So it is neither Tuesday, nor is it the day when we said this would be posted. Our schedules have been rather hectic lately, so neither of us had much time for this until now. What can we say? Finals make liars of us all. Anyway, we apologize profusely for how long it's taken to get this epilogue up. But it's here! And this brings us to the end of**** ** **A Glimpse Beyond This Illusion**** ** **.****

 ** **Warning: sappiness directly ahead (but not so much in the epilogue). We just want to thank you all for reading our first fic and sticking with us the whole way. It's not perfect by any means, but we really had fun writing it, and we hope you had fun reading it. Knowing that people actually enjoy what we put out is an awesome feeling, and those of you who dropped us a review every now and again always make our days.****

 ** **As for future plans, we are going to continue to write together. A fic this length does take quite some time to put out, though, since we like to have it mostly finished before we start to post, and then there's a lot of planning that needs to happen, too. We're going to get together to kick around a few ideas, so stay tuned- feel free to add us to author alert to get email when we post again!****

 ** **And now, you've waited long enough for this chapter. Enjoy, and send us one last review while you're at it! Thanks!****

* * *

 **"** ** **Feeling Good" - Nina Simone****

* * *

Crowley sat in a nearly empty bar, nursing a glass of whiskey as Nina Simone played in the background, and a pretty blonde bartender stood behind the bar, taking orders from the few patrons there were. After all he'd done to get those Winchester idiots out of trouble and then waking up in an abandoned warehouse whose concrete floors had really done _nothing_ to help his bad back, he deserved a little 'me time,' as he liked to call it. Even demons needed a break every now and then. And besides. He was celebrating.

He heard the door open from behind him, and he barely spared a glance up as one of Lucifer's precious bootlickers walked in. The demon glanced sideways at Crowley as he pulled up a stool and ordered a drink of his own. Crowley didn't bother addressing him - the lackey wasn't really worth his time anyway - but the other demon seemed to disagree. "I suppose I should say congratulations, then?"

Crowley took a drink, glancing at the demon just long enough to recognize him as the one who'd escorted him and Dean to the cells back in Lucifer's dream world, before turning his attention back to his drink. "Well, only if you really want to."

The demon raised his glass in a small toast. "I have to say, I really wouldn't have put my money on you."

Crowley let out a long sigh and shrugged, trying his best to ignore the demon's moronic comment. "Which is what makes you an idiot. I knew what I was doing."

The demon took a drink, chuckling. "Still. Lucifer did as well… Or thought he did." He thought for a moment, most likely trying to come up with a comment to match the idiocy of his first, and actually managed to surpass it. "I suppose it wasn't really you at all, though. It was the Winchesters who came to save the day once again."

Crowley resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Oh, they did all the _manual_ labor, but the Squirrel would never have found the angel at all if not for me."

The Winchesters would have been dead without him, really. Well, not Sam, who would currently be spending his time as Lucifer's meatsuit. Frankly? Those boys owed him. A debt he would be _sure_ to capitalize on at some point.

The demon raised an eyebrow, smirking. "And by 'they did all the manual labor,' you mean you sat back and let them do your dirty work?"

Crowley let out a scoff. Who did this moron think did all the masterminding anyway? Certainly not Dean. "Oh, they didn't think up that brilliant little plan of theirs by themselves. I… helped." He decided to leave it at that, changing the subject. "How is Lucifer, anyway? Seeing how you're still playing the part of one of his little cheerleaders."

The demon shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm just saying… If you're hoping to rally demons against Lucifer, you're going to have to be a bit more impressive than that. Most're a lot more afraid of him than they are of _you_. Myself included."

Crowley couldn't hide his exasperation at this point. "Well, that's your mistake, then. True, I may not have the power he does… _now_ … but I'm willing to bet the Winchester brothers will have him out of the picture soon enough. Clearing the way for yours truly."

The demon lackey had the gall to look at him as if _he_ were the one digging his grave deeper with every idiotic word out of his mouth. "And if they don't? Lucifer'll mark you as a traitor and have your head. You're playing a dangerous game here, going up against him without backing from Hell. Which you won't get unless you step up a notch or two."

Crowley shrugged, smiling slightly at the demon's incredible amount of incompetence. "Dangerous game, yes. But I'm more than capable of winning."

And he planned on it. After all, he had some of the most dangerous chess pieces in the world right in the palm of his hand.

The demon arched an eyebrow, obviously not believing what he was saying. "Better work on convincing Hell's finest of that."

Crowley took another drink, before waving the bartender over for a refill, taking a moment to admire her svelte figure with a smirk. "Oh, I am."

"Really? How so?"

It truly was astonishing, the depths of this demon's stupidity. "Do you _really_ think I'm going to spill all my plans to you over a drink?"

The demon chucked and nodded. "Fair enough."

Crowley sneered. "You're just a lackey, kissing Lucifer's boots and doing whatever he tells you to do in a weak attempt to impress him. You do know what he thinks of us 'lowly' demons, correct?" He rolled his eyes.

Who exactly did this demon think Lucifer was? A merciful ruler who would make Hell a better place for the higher-ups? Who would _reward_ loyalty? If anything, Lucifer would make it even worse for the demons in his pitiful attempts to destroy humanity. And then once he'd reached his goal…Well, suffice to say he wouldn't have need for demon assistance anymore.

The newest nuisance in Crowley's life seemed to think about it for a moment, before nodding seriously. "Of course. And truth be told, it'd probably be better on all of us with you in charge. But I know enough to see who's at the top and... shall we say… present myself accordingly."

"Then frankly, you're a fool."

The demon chuckled again. "How so?"

Crowley simply sighed. "You only see the present. Oh, sure, Lucifer's on top now, but the tables are about to be turned rather drastically."

And _still_ the demon countered. "I know that many of us - myself included - would like to see some solid evidence for that before we go jumping what seems like a perfectly safe ship for a dingy lifeboat."

At that, Crowley had to suppress the urge to laugh aloud, instead keeping his tone one of mild amusement and disbelief. "A _lifeboat?_ " He raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you all are calling me?"

The demon rolled his eyes as if _Crowley_ were the stupid one - as if. "It's a metaphor, genius."

A smirk. "Oh, I know. But do keep in mind that this 'lifeboat' will someday be your _boss._ "

The moron shrugged. "Like I said. Not making any hasty judgements. And for now, I'm sure you understand that it looks like Lucifer's the one to please."

Oh, he understood alright. Lucifer would undoubtedly look like the best option to follow to Crowley as well if _he_ had an IQ as low as this demon did.

Crowley scoffed. "Just remember. Things aren't always how they appear." He stood, straightening his blazer. "I think we're done here."

Yes, well past 'done.'

The demon waved a hand, as if _he_ were dismissing _Crowley_. "You go, then. I think I'll stay for a while." He turned back to his drink, as if he actually expected Crowley to just leave him there and go on his merry way with all the information he'd just been given.

Crowley suppressed a sneer. "Hmm, one last thing."

"Hm?" The poor fool didn't even look up.

Crowley pulled a blade from his jacket, yanking the demon up by the collar and stabbing him in the throat in one swift motion. Distasteful, yes, but… necessary.

He watched as the demon's eyes lit up orange, before yanking the knife out of the demon's jugular, releasing a rather impressive spray of blood all over the counter, as well as his blazer. He cursed mentally. It was going to be a right pain in the arse getting those stains out. _'Might as well just get a new one_ ,' he decided, wiping the blade clean on the hem.

Smirking, he glanced down at the now dead body in front of him. "Don't underestimate me."

Crowley glanced over at the bartender, remembering idly that she was still there, watching the whole exchange. The woman was staring at him with justified terror, one manicured hand still frozen on the taps.

He shrugged - he'd leave her alive, killing her would be far too much effort for what it was worth - and calmly finished his drink, placing a wad of cash on the bar. He grinned at the now traumatized blonde, winking. "Keep the change, luv."

With that, Crowley turned and walked out, leaving the corpse still slumped over where it had fallen against the bar. Someone else would take care of it. He could still hear the faint strains of "Feeling Good" coming from the bar's radio, the words of the song still audible.

 _It's a new day, it's a new life, it's a new world for me..._

His smirk widened as he began to strut down the dark sidewalk, dim light shining from the lampposts. He hummed along quietly even as the music began to fade.

 _And I'm feeling good._


End file.
